Work To Be Done
by kelevra94
Summary: There are many worlds out there that I wish to visit, thousands I wish to see. But some of them, I pray I never find.
1. Visitor

Cirella of Cintra dodged another blow of the massive claws that swiped over above her and crashed into the ornate railings of the great bridge, smashing apart stone and wrought iron as if they were paper mache. The massive creature howled, it's maw wide open and filled with rotten spikes for teeth. It's mangy fur dripped with putrid blood, making it cling to the spindly limbs and torso.

Another assault. It's one enormous paw swiped the ground in an attempt to catch the girl and end her, but Ciri blinked out of existence in a brilliant blue light, reappearing behind the terrible beast. She struck, drew blood and the thing screamed it's awful caricature of a wolve's howl.

The other, emaciated claw had been out of her focus and she tasted blood as it struck her with a backhand and flung her backwards towards the end of the bridge, crashing into an abandoned cart.

She blinked, confused, trying to make sense of her surroundings again, but too slow to stop the monster's charge at her.

Only a few paces left. It would slice her apart with it's chipped claws. It was almost upon her and then...

The sound of an explosion. The beast's head reeled back, damaged badly by an unseen force and then it bowed forward, nursing it's concussed skull.

Ciri blinked again and saw a dark figure between her and the beast. A man, striding towards the staggered monster, upright and with no particular urgency. When he stopped before it, she could see him, through the blood in her eyes, drawing back his arm and plunging his hand through the eye of the creature, before ripping it out and covering the ground in blood and clear brain fluid.

It vanished, vaporized into blueish dust that flew apart and high up into the air, before bundling up and streaming into the man, who accepted it as if it was the most mundane thing in the world.

He then turned towards her, his coat flapping in the wind. The bridge seemed to stretch out, longer and longer and each step that he took towards her seemed to carry him further away from her.

Then he stood before her, but she was unable to utter a word. Too much did his attire remind her of the damned Nilfgaardian knight. The one with the wings on his helmet and the black cloak, that had haunted her since the attack on Cintra and even sometimes now, long after her first clash with the Wild Hunt.

She did not let go of her sword, yet she did not raise it either. Surrounded by the smashed remains of the cart, she just continued to stare at the man.

"Milady." He said calmly, his voice deep and rough, not unlike Geralt's, but much more youthful.

"You need to wake up. This is not your dream."

/

Ciri's eyes opened to the sight of her burnt out campfire, still crackling in it's last hour of life. The dull embers cast too little light to help her much with her surroundings this early at dawn. She had often envied Geralt for his superior night vision, but she also valued not having been subjected to the infamous trial of grasses, which gave a witcher his inhuman abilities.

She turned around wearily and threw off the heavy woollen blanket that had become uncomfortably damp with the night's early dew. Slowly her eyes began to adjust to the twilight of the first few morning hours. She was already looking forward to the next night, when she would have reached Rhinzweig on the Pontar, where she would be able to rent herself an actual room in the inn that she knew for some time now and that belonged to a friend she had made in the past.

She might stay there for a few days and then move further west to Flotsam and down the Pontar towards Novigrad, where she hoped to meet with Priscilla, Dandelion and Zoltan at their cabaret. It had been some time since their last meeting. The whole ordeal with the Wild Hunt and the prophecy of the apocalypse had left her not much of freedom in where to go. Now, with a bit of peace to her mind, she realised just how much she had been missing the two bards and the rest of their people in the free city. She knew from Geralt that she would not meet Triss there, as the sorceress had crossed the sea to flee from the late King Radovid's genocide of sorcerers and deviants. She would find her at another time. Her powers of the elder blood made it possible for her to travel large distances in the blink of an eye, though she needed to admit that there was still a lot of practice needed, before she would be able to reliably hit specific coordinates. Until then, she preferred to travel per horse if possible. It minimized the danger of teleporting into dangerous situations.

She and her mare arrived at Rhinzweig in the late afternoon of the same day. The sun was just vanishing behind a swath of rainclouds that would soon release their waters. She was glad to have made it on time anand made haste to reach the inn in the center of the small town.

Rhinzweig had relatively recently developed into a small town. Originally it was just a place of a dozen humble huts and said inn, providing basic services and shelter for traveling merchant folk between Redania, Temeria, Aedirn and Kaedwen. It had soon become a trading post for it's advantageous location on the Pontar and when Nilfgaard had crossed the river east of the Mahakam mountains, it had miraculously been left alone from the looters and brigands that the battling armies left in their wake. Not without Geralt's and Ciri's help, had the town been able to flourish, as the two of them had taken it upon them to release the people there from the growing threat by the monster's that still roamed the lands. They had successfully hunted Leshens, drove the drowners from their nests and settled a reoccurring problem with a very old grave hag that had housed somewhere in a cave towards Kaedwen. Besides that, they had been hard at work from denying the numerous necrophanecrophages from getting a foothold in the wartorn area, where corpses had littered the landscape for a long time.

But now, Rhinzweig had become a stable outpost to Flotsam and had the strength to fend the dark off by itself. The townsguard was disciplined and competent, the people were friendly and open minded and trade was good.

Ciri arrived at the inn and greeted the young man at the stables, who happily took her mare and brought it inside to take off the saddle and get some fresh water for the loyal beast. She was not able to suppress a small smile as she saw that Jürgen, the innkeper and owner had expanded the building to accommodate more guests. Business seemed to be good.

"Ciri, my dear!" He greeted from behind the counter as she crossed the threshold to the warmly lit building.

"Come here, let me take a look at you! You have grown again! Don't you ever plan on stopping that?"

She smiled and approached him. Next to him stood his oldest daughter, Marie. A wild thing as Ciri remembered, who was only a year younger than her. She had and was apparently still, helping her father with the upkeep and management of the inn. The shapely brunette immediately walked around the corner to embrace Ciri, who had trouble keeping Marie's healthy mane out of her mouth. Both were quick to share a good laugh at that. Jürgen gave them the moment, though reminded Marie soon that there was still work to be done, to which the smiling girl nodded and vanished into the office, but not before getting Ciri's promise that they would be meeting soon to catch up.

"Where's Lea?" Ciri asked after she had given Jürgen a small token amount for her stay in one of his best rooms. He charged her a ridiculously low price, but he was of the opinion that taking nothing for his services was bad form as it placed debt on one of the parties involved.

"Oh, that one." Jürgen moaned. "Just as I though I had tamed her sister, this girl starts acting all the same." He pushed his spectacles further up his nose and exhaled through his nose.

"Lot's of new folk have come here recently and she is starting her own army of bachelors as it seems. Everyone is on the hunt now for her it seems, now that my Marie is betrothed to a good lad from Oxenfurt. But enough of us."

They had walked up the stairs into the new "wing" of the building, where the better rooms were situated.

"Have you come here looking for something, or are you just passing through?"

Ciri smiled. She enjoyed the genuine friendliness of the hard working man. A father she would have liked, had not Geralt filled this spot better than anyone else ever could.

"I am meeting a friend in Novigrad, though I am in no particular hurry. Has anything happen here that would interest me? What do you think?"

They reached her room and Jürgen gave her the key.

"You mean contracts?" She nodded.

"No, my dear. It has been peaceful here in the last few months. Lot's of good craftsmen though." He raised one hand suddenly, in excitement.

"Ouuh, yes. A new cobbler on the west end of town. He and his wife make masterful boots and shoes. Had them make a pair for me and haven't had one blister in 'em yet. Real good people. Hard working too." He almost radiated his excitement. It was why his business was going so well. Jürgen had soon become the center of all activity in Rhinzweig. He was also member of the council and lay judge at the local county's court.

"I'll be sure to pay them a visit. I could use a new sole on my boots. Is Pjet still here?"

"He's still here. Has a fancy new furnace and makes brilliant blades. I would guess though, that you wouldn't want a new sword."

"No." She answered. "But he liked Zireael. I guess he would understand that I don't need another one."

Jürgen nodded. He was aware of Ciri's and Geralt's skill with their swords. That the young woman had learned by one of the world's best swordsmen was readily apparent, even to someone who had only little knowledge of the art of the sword.

The two parted for the day. Jürgen, returned to his duties for the evening. He and his family would go to rest for the night and leave the building in their nightmanager's care.

Ciri decided that she would take a few days to rest and resupply. Her horse was happy to be able to just relax for the time, only having to endure a new fitting of horseshoes and otherwise sitting on the meadow behind the end, feeding on the green grass.

She herself had almost gone through all the businesses in Rhinzweig when the fourth day came around. She had visited Pjet in his smithy to renew the silver plating on her blade and had purchased a sturdy pocket knife. From the cobbler, whose name was Jancke from Leme further south, she bought a new pair of boots after he had told her that her old ones were unable to be salvaged and would soon cause her pain on extended walks. She agreed, though she held back that her current footwear was already doing that. Of course, every morning and every evening, her way lead past the posting board in front of Jürgen's inn and tavern, but the postings were not very interesting for Ciri, except for an announcement for a small tournament of Gwent, from which she fell out very soon, but had a lot of goodhearted fun.

She was just talking with a saleswoman from Toussant, a middle aged lady who travelled with a pair of Nilfgaardian mercenaries, when the weather completely turned around. While it had been windy throughout the day, it had been clear and bright until nightfall. It was expected to become an equally clear night and until almost midnight, that had been the case, but exactly in the moment, that Ciri lowered her cup, lightning ripped the night sky apart.

All guests of Jürgen's inn, flinched and looked to the windows. Not a minute before, the sky had been free, stars glinting in their nightly dance. Now the sky was black. Dark clouds came racing from everywhere and seemed to crash together above a certain spot in the woods north of Rhinzweig. Then it started to pour, as if the gods wanted to flood the world.

The stablehand was quickly sent to see to the horses and Jürgen went to gather everyone he could in the event of the Pontar flooding, since the river was high from the melting snow during the spring.

Another thunderclap tore through the constant rushing of water, as soil turned to mud and the small rivulets turned to soft streams over the streets and into the lawns of the buildings. Several people had ventured out to warn the locals to seal their doors and be ready to counter the possible flooding of cellars and ground floors.

But during all that, Ciri could only stare at the swirl of black stormclouds that flew in and out of another as if they were about to form a tornado. But nothing came. Instead, she felt a knot forming in her stomach as she sensed a foreign power sending shock after shock of... wrong energy through the surrounding area. Another lightning bolt shot into the forest and everyone thanked the divine that the rain was so strong, so that a forest fire was unlikely, but Ciri flinched harder than the rest. That last flash had been brighter, stronger and no doubt, not normal. Lightning did not take on colour, as it was just electricity building up in the clouds and being released all at once. It had no colour on it's own, since what the eye could see, was simple light. Yet the last bolt had been of a faint red colour that had burned itself into Ciri's mind.

Never had she seen such a phenomenon and while that alone was not enough to scare her, she was convinced that it was a good time now, to get her blade and don her armour.

A dwarf from the game gave her a scared look when she came back down, her jacket of chainmail over her chest, sturdy leather gauntlets on her hands and the longsword on her back.

"There a danger 'pon us, miss witcher?" He said, obviously noticing the odd position of her scabbard, commonly associated with the craft.

"I'm unsure yet." She answered. "But that storm is not natural. It's better to be prepared, don't you think?"

"Aye." The dwarf confirmed, then he stormed off to his compatriots and soon they were on their way to gather their own axes and armour.

"The captain has alerted his whole guard." Jürgen said from the side as he entered the building from behind. He was properly soaked.

"They are securing a perimeter around the northern borders of the town. They think that beasts and monsters might flee towards us."

"Smart." Ciri acknowledged, her eyes still fixed on the sky above the forest.

"You're not planning on going out there?" He asked, worry in his voice. His younger daughter Lea cowered behind her father's broad back.

"Not far, if at all." She answered curtly. "Though I have a bad feeling about all of this. I think this downpour is magic of some kind, but I can not place it at all."

"You _are _no sorceress." Jürgen commented and she nodded.

"Yet I know how proper magic feels in the surroundings. I have been present when it was in use a lot of times."

She paused.

"This feels... violent, even here. I shouldn't even be able to sense it this far off." She said. Ciri was no stranger to powerful magic. Not too long ago, she had stood in tthe epicentre of one of the mightiest magic explosions in recorded history. To say it had disturbed her was taking it lightly. Now, she felt a similar sensation. The feeling of wild and unleashed magic that pulsed and cracked, sending tremors through earth and bones.

"No." She decided. She was brave, for sure, but she was neither a fool, nor suicidal. "No one should go further than the towns borders. I will see if the guards need support, but as soon as anything changes, everyone has to be rearto flee."

Jürgen nodded and turned to his stablehand and his remaining staff, a grim but determined look on his face.

Soon, every able man and woman was either tending to their own families, or helping others gather supplies, prepare horses and carts, or just spreading the word. The town was on alert and as soon as it was too dangerous to stay, everyone would go as fast as possible over the Pontar and towards the Nilfgaardian garrison in the south. In a way, it was heartwarming to see so many strangers from different origins, professions and races work together without a word of objection.

As the guard's captain predicted, a few hours later, the first monsters were driven out of the treeline. Ciri had left the inn a few minutes earlier and arrived just in time to see four of the captain's men dispatch the last nekkers from a swarm. The little pests were small and relatively harmless on their own, but large groups brought down the mightiest of prey. The town's guard had proven itself though and so, the empty field between the forest and the town's borders were already filled with the bodies of the annoying ogroids. One man was nursing a nasty gash on his cheek, but otherwise the men seemed unharmed, Shields, swords and spears in hand.

The captain spotted her. He was a tall man and a preven veteran from Temeria. Thick locks of black hair peeked from below his helmet and the thick leather and chainmail of his armour did little to hide his impressive physique. He eyed Ciri's sword on her back.

"Yar'a witcher, lass?" He asked, with a slight smile tugging at his lips. They hadn't met before, so he probably wouldn't know of her connection to the school of the wolf in Kaer Morhen.

She didn't get to answer, because the underbrush ahead was rustling suspiciously and shortly after, a pair of Alghouls broke through the bushes.

Ciri drew Zireael and fastened her grip, while the captain raised his shield and readied his axe. In a flash of blue light, she was gone and reappeared in front of one of the beasts, having pierced the monster through it's maw. The other one had simply kept it's momentum and rushed past her, towards the others.

I smashed into the captain's shield, it's charge rendered futile and he smashed his axe down onto it's head, splitting it down the middle.

The men faced the treeline again and waited for another assault, but nothing came. Minutes passed as Ciri eyed the darkness behind the forest's edge, trying her hardest to spot any movement among the thrashing branches.

It was silent.

Just now she noticed that the thunderstorm had dissipated. Only the heavy rain continued to whip against her skin. Slowly, stars returned to the horizon the moon's light finally battled it's way through the dark clouds. Apart from the pouring rain, it was awfully silent. No one dared to move.

"Y'think it's over?" The captain grunted over to Ciri who still held her stance, scanning the surroundings for anything out of the ordinary. The magic was leaving, returning to the core of the trees and the soil.

"I don't know." She answered. "It seems like it."

"Well, time to get back and dry up." The captain said, hanging his axe to his belt.

"I'll let the men patrol the area, just in case."

Ciri nodded, eager herself to get back into Jürgen's inn and towel herself up.

On the way back, the captain explained his orders to his men. Five of them would stay outside and keep watch, while the others dried up and had something to eat. Then they would rotate until dawn. When dawn came, it would probably be safe again.

It was a testament to the quality of his men that no one complained or even rolled an eye on the prospect of having to keep guard duty during the middle of the night, in heavy rain. The men just nodded and then the first shift was off to duty.

Ciri was quick to clean herself up when she reached her room again. She changed into a dry set of garments, dried out her armour and returned downstairs. Jürgen had been trying to get her back again, so she could get a good night's sleep. Just like the generous host he was, he would never make his guests work for the town. Ciri declined though, arguing that sleep would elude her anyway and that she would rather stay ready, in case something happened. Jürgen's youngest, Lea, helped her set up a makeshift cot in the inn's ground floor, close to the door, so in the event of an emergency, she would be able to react quickly.

Ciri had just managed to drift into a light slumber, more a nap than proper sleep, when all of a sudden, a commotion outside raised her back to consciousness. She remembered that the third shift had just left when she drifted off, when one of the men pushed open the main door, out of breath and feverishly searching for anyone of authority.

The captain got up.

"What is it, man?"

The guard caught his breath before speaking.

"Sir! A man just appeared on the center well, sir. Just outta nowhere. There's no way we'd have overlooked 'im before. He's just lying there, not a muscle movin'."

"Is he still there?" The captain bellowed as he jumped to his feet and grabbed his helmet.

"Yessir. Djuri is keeping his eye on 'im. He's a strange lookin' one, sir. Pale as a corpse, but alive as far's we can tell."

By now Ciri had stood up as well, fiddling with the pommel of her sheathed sword that she had kept at her side.

"Yer comin' witcher-girl?" The captain grunted and Ciri nodded her head with a grim smile.

"Show us where." She said to the guard, who quickly stood straighter than before and properly hefted the halberd that he had on him.

"This way." They followed him.

The main well in the center of Rhinzweig was larger than average, with a set of five steps leadin up to it. Sometime during the storm, the little roof had been blown off, the wooden shingles scattered about.

At the top of the stairs, there was the form of a man, sunken in himself as he leaned on the stone circle, breathing evenly as if he was sleeping.

"Strange one, for sure." The captain said and Ciri could not disagree. To say that the man's clothing was outlandish would be an overstatement. After all, there were plenty of people wearing black garments and long coats. However, his attire seemed to fit a noble more than a common man. The seams of his clothes were fine, like sewn with a machine and the stitchings were exquisite, surely done by a master tailor. A grey trenchcoat crumpled up below his body. His lower body was covered in black pants, tucked away into dark brown boots which had bronze shinguards fastened to them. His torso was covered in a light shirt with a stiff collar and thin looking, black vest, from which silvery floral patterns shone through, gently reflecting the morning sun. A trio of belts was slung around his chest, for no apparent reason and Ciri noticed a fourth one around the man's right thigh.

"White as death, that one is." The captain grumbled as he knelt before the sleeping one, using the shaft of his axe to tip the man's tricornered hat up to reveal more of his face. His visage was still covered by the black mask that wrapped around his neck and lower face, covering everything up to his nose. The captain only uncovered matted dark brown hair that stuck to his forehead from either rain or sweat.

"What now?" She asked, unsure what to do. It was obvious that he was alive, with his chest rising and falling with his breath, yet they couldn't just leave him here in the dirt.

"I say we get a bucket and wash him off. That'll wake him surely." One of the captain's men said proudly, propping his hands against the chainmail on his hip. A few of the others present muttered approvingly and Ciri felt a smile tugging at her lip at the thought. Yet something in her felt uneasy around this strange new person. She felt as if she had seen him before, yet she was unable to surely place him.

Just as the baker's boy returned with a large wooden tub, she grew worried. So much even that she stopped him as he was about to empty the water he'd brought over the unsuspecting sleeper.

"One thing." She announced and held up a hand. She then dug into one of her pouches and produced a small vial filled with fine dust.

"What's that?" The captain asked as he peered over her shoulder.

"Silver, with a magic reagent." She answered while pouring some of it into the palm of her hand.

"You might know that a lot of the post conjunction creatures react quite badly to silver."

"Yeah, I do. Hence the witcher's blades be plated silver. I know." He answered.

Ciri took the man's arm and left the silver to fall onto the back of his hand. Nothing happened. She sighed, her smile returning.

"Good thing?" The captain asked curiously.

"Yes." She stood up. "With most post conjunction creatures, this powder would have reacted on contact with skin. At least we can mostly rule out that he's a monster for now." Ciri tucked the vial away again, dusting off her hands.

"You say mostly." The captain asked, eyeing the stranger cautiously. "There's monster's out there that don't care for silver?"

"There are some out there that are more resilient to it, yes." The boy with the bucket came closer again. "Higher vampires for example."

The captain's eyes widened at the mention of such a dangerous creature.

"But if he was and he was dangerous, we would already be dead, I suppose." Ciri waved at the boy in a gesture that said 'go' and he, grinning over both ears, turned over the bucket over the strangers head, then turned to run away, should the former sleeper decide to chase him. Yet he did no such thing.

To the boy's disappointment, the man merely opened his eyes and shifted. No sign of anger, or hurry present in his movement or his expression. Slowly, the man got up to his feet and just now everybody realised how tall he was, towering over the captain, who was the tallest, by at least half a head. He did not seem skinny still, filling out his frame to make the impression of a slender giant, rather than a lanky beanpole. In a rather uncomfortable way, his size almost reminded Ciri of the riders of the wild hunt, who had also reached far above her and the witchers.

He was not _that_ tall, she told herself. That and the fact that she was able to see his eyes. Kind eyes that swept about, confused, yet curious. His gaze fell on her and she stared back. Lively greens met steel greys as he held her gaze, almost challenging her in a way that most people wouldn't nowadays.

"What's your name, friend." The captain said out loudly, making the stranger break their little staring contest and look to him. Then to the ground, then back to Ciri. There was worry in his eyes and then... relief.

"My name..." He started. His voice was deep, but hoarse and shaky, as if he hadn't spoken in a long time.

"My name is not of importance, but I am a Hunter."


	2. Hunter

"A hunter?" Ciri asked as she stared down the stranger. Surely he did not look anything like a hunter in the traditional sense of the trade, nor did he wear the attire and insignia of the witchhunter's order of the church of the eternal fire. He looked more a Nilfgaardian noble than anything else, at least according to the way he was dressed. His eyes were still darting about the place, lingering briefly on seemingly random points in their environment.

He did not answer for a while, until his eyes landed first on the captain and his blue and yellow armour and secondly on Ciri herself, his sharp greys meeting her youthful greens.

"Um... what is your name?" She asked, a bit irritated by his extended silence. As a stranger it would be customary to introduce oneself, yet the man just looked around, his gaze now no longer fixed on her, but on a small bird that jumped across the ground at his feet.

"Are you alright?" She said as he didn't give an answer.

"I am..." He started and looked back up at her. "I am... unsure of my name. I apologize."

"Do you mean, you don't remember? Do you know where you came from?"

He continued to stare, but she noticed that he wasn't looking at her, but rather directly through her. Lost in thought. Surely this was as confusing to him as it was to her and everyone present.

"Yes." He finally answered. His gaze woke up again, fixated again on Ciri.

"I was... in a dream. I believe." He took a step forward.

"Say, are we awake now?"

Ciri raised an eyebrow at the odd question, but slowly nodded her head.

"Yes. As far as I know, this is not a dream. You are in Velen. This town is called Rhinzweig. To the south are the Mahakam mountains and to the north is the Pontar that flows westward towards Novigrad and the sea."

He listened to her explanation, seemingly without any reaction, but his eyes were still moving, now rapidly between her, the people and everything around them.

"Maybe he's a bit daft?" The captain whispered to Ciri.

"Don't know." She answered. "He obviously seems lost. I don't think he-"

"I come from Yharnam." The man suddenly said.

"A city far to the north, though I don't know if it exists here. I fear I don't know much from before."

His expression was apologetic, even though he stood upright with his back straight and his hands by his side. Whoever he was, his upbringing must have taught him formalities and stance similar to that of common courtly etiquette.

"Well, my name is Ciri and this is..." She gestured at the captain.

"Uhm... captain Hans Kerren. I oversee the local militia." He paused shortly.

"Are you feelin' well? Would you need medical attention?"

"...No." He said after another moment. He slowly turned his head around to the right, drawing air through his nose. Ciri recognized this motion. He was sniffing the air like a dog or a wolf.

"Well... maybe we should bring you inside then. It must be awfully cold out here for you, being as soaked as you are." Ciri said, watching the Hunter cautiously. The way he was acting was strange and even a bit intimidating, consciously or not.

"That would be a good idea. You have my gratitude." He said, without looking away from the direction he was facing.

She waved it off and after a meaningful exchange of glances with the captain, she and the rest of the people present made their way back home, or to Jürgen's inn. _He _followed wordlessly, water dripping silently from the front corner of his tricorn.

Jürgen was already waiting for them, as well as the sorcerer from before, with his elven companion. Apparently they had gathered medical supplies and even surgical tools and a few bits of clean cloth, should wounds need to be tended to.

One after another they entered. The captain and his men huffed in exasperation as they removed their helmets and weapons to put them aside. Ciri sent a quick smile at Jürgen to let him know that everything was alright. The sorcerer and the elven woman relaxed too, having been needed to expect anything from this night's unique situation.

Both were in the process of turning and gathering up their laid out supplies, when the sorcerer suddenly stopped and turned around. He came to face with the Hunter, standing in the doorway, slightly bowed to keep his head from colliding with the door frame. He looked to either side and stepped inside, keeping his back to the walls and moving out of the doorway.

"Morning friend. My name is Jürgen. Welcome to my establishment" Jürgen said as he approached him quickly, stopping before him and performing a slight bow.

The Hunter too bowed his head, while drawing one foot behind the other and motioning both of his arms slightly to the right. It was subtle and simple, not like the exaggerated Nilfgaardian stance that seemed to please their nobles so much.

"The pleasure is mine." He answered, offering his hand. "Though I regret I come short of an introduction. Regrettably, I do not know my name, only that I am a Hunter."

"Of noble beasts I presume, judging from your dress." Jürgen said while leading the man further into the room. He did not take heed of the muttered 'You could say that.' from the Hunter.

"You must be exhausted. The captain's men say you appeared out of thin air. Like the ground spat you out." Jürgen continued. Ciri had fallen in line behind them as they walked over to the counter.

"Will you stay? To collect your senses?" The innkeeper asked, slipping behind the counter. The Hunter stopped before him, seemingly unsure of what to say for a while. A few moments passed before he spoke.

"I do not know where I am, sir. Neither do I know if the few coins that I have on me will be enough to pay you for a stay."

Jürgen laughed heartily, making the man raise an eyebrow and Ciri smile a little.

"We'll see to that somehow. Who would I be to deny shelter for a lost traveller? Let's get you to a room for now. You look like you haven't slept in ages."

The stranger nodded and said his thanks. Jürgen looked around, probably looking for one of his daughters to take the man up to a room. He quickly remembered that it hasn't been so long since a storm had shaken his house and they were proprobably around, or back in bed, catching up on sleep.

He beckoned the man to follow him and soon they were gone, Ciri and the rest of the people still downstairs, unsure what to do.

"Well..." The captain started. "Old Jürgen's always been quick to befriend other's."

"He sure is." Ciri concurred. "Well boy's. Night's been long. I guess I'll head off too. Take care."

"You too, miss witcher." The captain said.

The horses were nervous this morning.

/

Ciri awoke to the sound of laughter and steel on steel. Quickly, she got up from her bed, dressed light and pulled on her boots. The sounds from downstairs did not seem overly hostile, still she preferred her blade with her, so she grabbed the sheathed sword and left her room to move downstairs.

"Great!" She heard Lea, Jürgen's youngest, a girl of sixteen years shout after a particularly fast following of metallic clashes. She rounded the corner towards the back exit and saw a veritable crowd of people, probably from breakfast, surrounding the small backyard of the inn. Through the backs of people, she recognized Jürgen and his daughters, standing to the side, most of the people from the last night and a few newcomers.

In the middle of the courtyard, captain Hans Kerren circled around the Hunter, blunt practice blade in both hands and eyeing his opponent with intent. The Hunter just stood still, his own sword in a perfect ox, his body only following the captain's movements occasionally. Ciri slipped in next to Jürgen, Marie and Lea.

"What is going on?" She asked.

"Hans came by for breakfast this morn." He answered. "Sat with the guy. Said that a true man knows how to lead a blade. Challenged him to a friendly spar, after your Hunter-"

"My Hunter? If anything he's Hans' Hunter."

"Both 'o yourses Hunter said that he knew how to fight. Well Hans said he only believed it when he saw it."

"So they just started brawling, directly after breakfast?" She asked, just as Kerren lunged forward with a downward slash, that was nimbly deflected by the Hunter's own blade, making the captain's sword sail off to the side. Still he collected himself quick, assuming a defensive stance as the Hunter performed an impressive dash to the side, one of the kind Ciri hadn't even seen from Geralt. It seemed as if he only took a quick step, but the distance covered was easily the length of a grown man's height.

"Huh, you're nimble, I give you that." The captain said with a grin, while the Hunter stayed silent, his eyes never leaving those of Kerren.

"They've been doing this for fifteen minutes now." Jürgen said to Ciri, before adding, in a louder voice:

"'Bout time they finish this!"

Ciri grinned as several of the captain's men broke out in cheers and light provocation.

"Show him how it's done!" One yelled.

"Put him on his back!" A second one chimed in, yet Kerren stayed calm, as he and the silent man circled around each other.

"I'm waiting." He finally muttered, almost inaudible to the crowd, but Ciri saw the Hunter smirk behind his swordarm.

Suddenly, he dove forward and turned his blade, but instead of delivering a strike, he transferred to an overhead guard at the last moment. The captain, apparently confused, tried to strike from his own guard, but the Hunter, prepared, parried easily, turned and locked the man's sword with his own crossguard. Kerren tumbled forward, dragged along by the Hunter's sword and lost footing. His blunt blade buried itself far into the soil and before he could get up from his knees, he felt the metallic ping of steel on the shoulder of his cuirass.

He glanced around to see the man standing above him, his hands having let go of his sword's hilt, and gripping the end of the blade, while the crossguard pointed straight at Kerren's neck.

"What a flashy move." Jürgen remarked with a whistle. "Don't see it's practicality, but he bested Hans for sure."

He looked at Ciri, who had a grim smile on her face.

"Impressed?"

"That's a mordhau." She answered.

"What?" He raised an eyebrow at the strange word.

"Means murder strike. Swordsmen use it against armoured opponents. Make the crossguard break through metal and get at the skin. Only seen Lambert do that once on a dummy and he was not convinced."

Jürgen looked back at the fighters. "So you mean..."

"Had this not been a duel, he might have opened the captain's artery. Yes."

Cheers and clapping erupted from the audience. The three captain's men rushed forward laughing and clapping him on the shoulders, as Kerren gripped the Hunter's offered hand to be pulled to his feet easily.

"Kerren a veteran?" Ciri asked.

"He is. Best fighter I know, aside from Geralt of course. Was a military combat advisor for a long time. Your eyes for that are better than mine. Was that a close match?"

She shook her head. "No. Kerren had a few angles, but I think the guy had it under control the whole time."

"You intrigued?" The innkeep glanced towards Lea, his younger daughter, who was thoroughly entranced by the Hunter's graceful movements.

"If so, might use the chance to talk to him. Otherwise he'll be under siege from every lass in town before you get to him."

The blonde laughed as she stepped forward. "Might be right there."

The Hunter looked at her as she approached and cocked his head sideways as she nodded towards the meadow that stretched behind the inn and towards the eastern treeline. Still, he seemed to understand, as he accepted Kerren's friendly congratulations and quietly followed behind her.

They walked for a few minutes, until the village was a fair distance away and Ciri stopped, leaning against a mighty oak tree. The Hunter had kept a few steps behind her until she stopped, only now coming closer, with his sparring sword still in his hand, reverse gripped and pointing towards the ground.

Ciri looked him up and down for a moment. Sure, she had previously seen that he was tall, but yesterday, he'd been covered in hat, coat and mask. Now he had forgone those and was lightly dressen in a white shirt, pants, boots and black gloves, which he pulled off to tuck them into a backpocket.

He seemed rather young. Maybe in his midtwenties, with short, dark brown hair and sharp eyes that seldom seemed to stand still. A short stubble covered his jaw, but he seemed to take good care of himself. He was slender in every regard, but Ciri recognized bodily strength and was experienced enough to know that lethality was not tied to someone's bodily appearance. She herself was one of the best examples for that.

"You seem pretty confident with that." She said and pointed at the sword in his hand.

"That's not just duelling prowess, is it?"

He looked down at the sword, before putting it against the stump of a broken down tree.

"I fought a lot." He answered.

"Saw that. A mordhau..." She crossed her arms. "That's a killing move. Where have you fought?"

"Yharnam." He said.

"Never heard of that place."

"It might not exist here." He sat down on the fallen tree, rubbing his hands together. Occasionally he threw her a glance.

"What does that mean?" She asked. "Is it real, or not?"

He chuckled darkly.

"It is. it might just be from a different plane. Another dimension or something. I don't know, but it feels different here. The moon is another. So strange..."

Both fell silent for a few moments. Birds and cicadas hollered across the open space, while the wind caressed the young blades of grass, swaying them to and fro. A few twigs fell from one of the trees, crashing lightly to the ground with shallow cracks.

"Do you want to know why I do not object to your story?" She finally asked, as she was staring across the artificial horizon of treetops.

He did not look up as he inspected the ground beneath his shifting boots and answered. "Because you have seen something similar before?"

She looked at him. "Exactly. The Wild Hunt had me in pursuit for the longest time. Still might be, despite the blows we have inflicted on them."

He stopped his movement and looked back, one eyebrow raised. "The Wild Hunt? Like the stories the Germans and Welsh tell? Spectral riders in pursuit of a spirit?"

She smiled. "Don't know Germans or Welsh, but yes, pretty much."

"Right." He looked back at the ground. "Far from home, I forgot."

Silence again, but this time he spoke up.

"Yharnam is... was a dark place. The city had already fallen when I arrived. I only sought a remedy for the crippling sickness that almost cost me my life. The city was rumoured to possess a wondrous cure. One that heals all sicknesses."

"Let me guess, the cure's not that wondrous." She remarked with a bitter smirk.

He smiled darkly at that.

"Oh, it was. And certainly effective. Blood ministration always yields results, just not always like you want them to."

"Blood?" Ciri asked, immediately reminded of the stories Geralt told her, of vampires and necrophages, who swarmed out in the night for their regular harvests.

"Blood." He confirmed. He rummaged through one of his pockets and pulled from it a small, sturdy vial, with a syringe's needle at the bottom end. Inside, a vile looking, dark concoction swirled about, blackish red mixing reluctantly with dirty yellow.

"I was lucky. My bodily dispositions allowed me to accept this. Most others had no such fortune. They sought healing like myself and instead they found... something worse than death."

"Infection?" She asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yes. Horrible transformations those were. The people became rabid, deformed. In some cases it was impossible to discern them from beasts. In even more rare cases, they became monsters of impossible scale. Monolithic and bloodthirsty."

Ciri eyed the man for a moment. It didn't seem like he was exaggerating his tale. He did not look at her as he spoke, nor did he gesture much. His gaze was fixed at a point in the treeline, only occasionally following a movement in the underbrush.

"I am sorry I brought it up." She said, making him look up at her.

"Don't be. It's what happened and that won't change. It's not that I have not profited from it. The sickness that devoured me is gone and I have shaken off the madness that has gripped most of the other Hunters that prowled the city."

He smiled. Earnestly and wholesome. His grey eyes shot over to Ciri and she recognized a strange lightness in his gaze, something hopeful, but awkward. Like he had no experience in feeling this way. She thought of asking him if he would go back. Maybe he had unfinished business, maybe he was like the many veterans she knew, addicted to war, the camaraderie.

"It's nice here." He started again, looking back at the forest. "Peaceful... it seems. Say, why was this 'wild hunt' pursuing you?"

She didn't speak, yet when he looked back at her, she felt something in the back of her head that warned her. Told her to be cautious, that this strange man was not at all ordinary, other world or not. She fell out of her thoughts when he spoke up again.

"Why are we here, miss?" He stood up, picking the training sword up by the blade.

She glanced at him, then at the blade, then back at him.

"I wish to spar." She smirked. "I want to fight the Hunter. See if I can't beat him."

He smiled and twitched with his wrist. The sword twirled for a split second, before the heft found itself in his sturdy grip.

"We'd need a second sparring sword." She said. He did not answer, but lowered the blade, nodding and following her as she lead him back to town. More than once she turned slightly to catch a glimpse of him, yet she didn't catch him ogling her. Instead, his eyes were twitching and roaming their surroundings, noting every detail, classifying them and casting a second glance at those things that coaxed his interest. There were a few other people she knew that did this. Geralt, of course, as well as his 'brothers' from Kaer Morhen. She thought Vesemir had been more subtle, but he too had been scanning, always. Always vigilant. She missed him.

They had just passed one of the stones that made up the towns borders, when she felt the Hunter's hand grip her shoulder and stopped. She looked back quickly to see him stare forward, one finger raised to his lips. She was about to ask 'what?', when she heard the scream of a girl further among the buildings.

She almost broke out into a sprint, one hand already at the hilt of her sword, but the Hunter's hand held her back. She locked eyes with him, angered, but he just nodded forwards, his own sword in hand, soundlessly as he prowled ahead of her.

She fell into step behind her, eager to strike as the screams grew louder and she recognized Lea's voice. She was in distress. Then, more voices joined her. Jürgen pleaded, Kerren snarled a vile threat and then someone else, a third, cackled away.

They crept up on one of the houses and rounded the corner silently, now crouching behind a dense rosebush. A crowd stood at the ready. Dwarfs, humans, elve and mage, staring down a group of seven men, among them someone so tall, that Ciri asked herself if he was just a very short giant.

All wielded weapons. Two bows, a mace and four swords of varying shape. The only identification on the mismatched clothing of the seven, were the emblems that were stitched crudely to their upper left arm. Three stars over a blue mountain range at day.

"Akhorn will hear of this!" Kerren spat out from where he knelt. His right arm hung slack from his side, the armor below his shoulder dented and pierced, with blood trickling down his hand. Obviously the handywork of the man with the mace.

"Won't!" One of the attacker's, a slender man with an unkempt full beard, yelled.

"Not if ya wanna see that bitch o' yours again." He pointed at the giant and Ciri's eyes snapped over. A shock of blonde hair was held in the man's hand and she recognized the whimper of Jürgen's youngest daughter. The thin man stepped forward, pointing at the innkeep.

"No worry. We'll be sure to bring 'er back when we done with 'er." Jürgen looked like he was about to tear the man's throat out with his bare hands, but he was restrained by his older daughter and the elven woman.

The men turned around and walked towards the woods. One of them used his sword to smash a trio of pots apart that stood to the side, scattering vegetables over the ground. Then, they turned around a corner and were gone.

The Hunter moved, each motion straight forward like a machine. He did not turn as the townspeople rushed towards him and Ciri, nor did he answer their pleads. Instead he strode forward, sword in hand and eyes narrow.

"Ciri!" It was Jürgen. He had sunk to the ground, to his knees, surrounded by one half of the captain's men. The other half was either tending to their officer, or had rushed off to arm themselves for pursuit.

"Jürgen." She walked up to his side and took a knee. "Who were they?"

"Some of Akhorn's men." The elf answered for him.

"He is supposed to keep this area safe, damn him! Not to press ransom."

"I know Akhorn." Ciri said. She remembered him from her travels with Geralt here. In employ of the duchy, the man was a mercenary, sure, but he seemed genuinely interested in keeping the people safe. She remembered his men as cordial, even though a bit reclusive at times. However, they had been professionals back then. To think they would fall so far.

"He wont stand for this!" Kerren moaned from the side. A woman was hurrying with bandages and little flasks in her arms, while one of the guards removed the armour on Kerren's arm.

"These men!" He gestured towards the way the attackers had vanished to. "They can't be working under his orders! He would not allow this."

"Sir!" One of the militiamen stopped from a sprint.

"The Hunter fellow has vanished after them into the woods. We are prepared to follow."

"Do it." Kerren pressed through his teeth. "But send a rider to Akhorn too. He needs to be informed of this."

The man nodded and ran off again. Ciri stood up and looked towards the woods, drawing her sword in a practiced motion. The Hunter had gone ahead, hopefully he left a trail that she could follow.

She slowed down when she reached the treeline. The seven men had produced a greatly visible trail in the wet grass and no doubt it would continue into the forest too. After entering, she needed a moment to pick up their track again, but the broken branches, pressed moss and grass lead her on. It took her by surprise a bit, but she was having trouble finding the Hunter's tracks. Sure, there was the occasional footprint, clearly distinguishable by it's form. He wore stable boots with a firm heel, while the shoes of the bandits had flat soles, but his tracks were few and far between. Obviously he was used to treading lightly, but since he was in pursuit, he seemed not to care too much for the concealment of his tracks. She crouched for a moment and took in her surroundings. Years of training had sharpened her senses to the human maximum. Calmly she scanned the spaces between the treetrunks, the light that fell between the leaves and bushes. She listened for anything out of the ordinary, sniffed the air for something, anything.

Blood.

It was faint, but that she, with her unaltered human senses could smell it, meant it was close. She stood up and concentrated on the air, the direction of the light breeze and started forward. She was getting closer, the coppery scent becoming stronger, her hand rolled across the hilt of her sword.

There, behind a large root, was one of the men. He was bald, with leathery skin and a scar across his chin. He made the impression of a hardy individual, but apparently that hadn't helped him. The blunt training blade that the Hunter had brought with him, was broken in half. One part, the lower, stuck out of the man's mouth and had penetrated all the way through his spine, severing it. The tip was still burrowed into the man's ribs. Ciri was unsure about the angle, but she thought it possible that the blunt blade had also penetrated the heart. The man's sword was missing.

"Thorough he is." She muttered as she pulled her gaze from the corpse. Around her were signs of a short struggle, but obviously it had concluded quickly. When she picked the trail back up, she noticed that it had become much easier to follow. The tracks were chaotic, no doubt caused by the remaining six being spooked by their pursuer. They had managed to gain another fifty paces before the next fell.

One of the bowmen was propped against a tree, the bow split in half and a clean cut through his throat, which exposed his airpipe and had severed the bloodvessels in his neck. The man was almost completely painted in crimson. Ciri did not stay long. She had heard a noise further ahead and made haste to follow.

Bounding through the woods, dodging branches and jumping over roots and underbrush, she was fast in her search. The remaining few had cut a deep scar into the forest, one which she was too thankful for.

She heard the subdued clang of steel on steel, followed by a scream, short and ending abruptly. Soon she passed a third man, laying on his side with a horizontal slash across both of his eyes that went so deep that it must've almost halved his head. The scream she had heard could have been him, realising that his end had come, before his brain had been cut apart.

Then, before her, a flash of white among the trees. The man she knew as Hunter, walked steadily forwards. He did not run, but kept his strides long and even, his gaze fixed on a point further ahead, where Ciri had seen a hint of golden blonde. It took her the lesser part of a minute to catch up to him.

"Should we not hurry?" She said out loud when he did not acknowledge her. "They will outrun us."

He looked at her with his grey eyes, but where they had conveyed nothing but confusion yesterday, now they had a sinister glimmer in them. Something dark was lurking behind the visage of this man and he was using it to pursue these men right now.

"They won't." He stated while walking straight ahead. His feet made barely a noise as he seemed to float across the forest ground.

"The large one is severely out of breath already and their leader has twisted his ankle while running." There was something in his voice that she did not like, aside from the lack of remorse after having killed three people. They broke through the bushes and found themselves on a broad path that lead through the forest northbound. To their sides, the path was rimmed with all kinds of local shrubbery, obstructing their view of their surroundings, while the light played in the leaves and needles of the trees. It was perfectly silent.

Ciri felt strangely out of place with the Hunter to her side. He continued forward without pause, now following the pathway, his shadow unnaturally long in the sunlight from above.

"They're up ahead." He stated and stopped walking. He pointed in a direction to their side, where Ciri could, when she strained her ears, make out a small whimpering and an angry, male voice. She remembered this place. They were near an old mining site which had once been home to a particularly nasty tribe of nekkers. It had taken her and Geralt a few weeks to get rid of them completely, but eventually they couldn't find any more. The mine, as well as the adjacent camp, had subsequently been empty. Until now it seems.

She informed him of that and he nodded. His eyes only briefly lingered on her as she spoke. Then, he went back to scan the trees.

"I will come through the underbrush and try to surprise them. Do you think you can hold them off long enough for me to free Lea?"

He smiled grimly, then nodded, before taking the pathway further north, which Ciri knew, led back around towards the mining camp.

It did not take long for Ciri to reach the cave. For a few agonizing moments, she could only hear the sweet girl cry out in fear, but not see her, though Ciri let out a breath of relive when she saw the girl sitting on a log next to the cave. Safe for a few minor cuts and bruises, she seemed unharmed. The giant of a man, with a sword of similar dimensions on his shoulder, paced around in front of her, muttering something incomprehensible. She was just about to ask herself what took the Hunter so long, when she heard the yells from her left, where the entrance to the camp was.

"Morten! Morten!" An unpleasant voice called out. That of the group's leader. "That fuck from the forest is here. He says he wants to parlay."

The giant called Morten grunted and turned. "Parlay?" He might've never heard the word before.

"He wants to talk. Would you be so kind as to tell him to leave?"

"Leave?"

The leader frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Kill him. We need you to kill him."

The giant called Morten seemed unsure. He looked at his leader and then Lea. The poor girl shrunk away from his gaze. She had run out of tears for now.

"You can have your fun later. Now, we need you to work. Come on."

Morten nodded and moved. Soon, Ciri could only hear his stomping and the clanking of his armour. The leader was still there.

"Now it's just us." He said and smiled a disgusting smile. He flexed his hands as he stepped forward. Slowly, Ciri sheathed her blade, careful to avoid any noise. Her hand wandered to her belt, where her knife was fastened. With practiced motions, she climbed out of her hiding spot and closed in on the man.

"I know, we might have gotten off on the wrong foot. But trust me, we're going to have lots of fun together."

Ciri almost gagged, but there was no time for antics. Behind her, the sounds of a struggle were to be heard. She sent out a short prayer that he would be okay. She closed in on the leader, just as he took hold of Lea's dress. His hand had just reached her shoulder, when Ciri came up behind him, the blade at his throat.

"Whow, whow." He raised his hand. A scream was audible from behind them. The Hunter had claimed another life.

"Talk, scum!" Ciri spat. "Why are you doing this? The duke is paying you to keep these people safe!"

She turned him around. He was even more unsightly from up close. With a bit of care and a few visits to a barber and a dentist, he could no doubt become a respectable person again. Now, he looked like a ruin of a man. He grinned, showing blackened teeth.

"We're what? Ha! You think that a few crowns every week is enough for us sticking out our necks every day for people like you!? Or her!?" He pointed at Lea, who had crawled from her seat, back behind a crate of unknown contents.

"And also, we're all men. We've needs too, y'know. And since there's not a brothel in sight for the next one hundred miles in any direction, I think it is only fair if we-"

He didn't get to finish. Ciri had punched forward with her knife and opened the man's throat. He looked at her with a surprised expression, while he tried to shut the bleeding down with his hand. It did not work. Blood was flowing freely from between his fingers and down to the ground. He tried to sit down where Lea had been sitting down before, but he stumbled and fell backwards like a bug, struggling.

"Ciri?" Lea whispered from her cover and Ciri looked at her. She was quick to wipe her hands off of the blood on the back of her shirt, so she wouldn't dirty Lea's clothes, even though these were ruined already.

"Lea. It's fine." She said in the most soothing tone she could muster. "Me and the Hunter are here to save you."

Lea ran forward, stumbling a bit but she reached Ciri's arms. She would give the girl a moment, but she needed to check on _him._

"Where is he?" Lea asked, as if she had shared her thoughts. The sound of steel on steel was still ringing over from the camps entrance.

"Let's hurry." Ciri said, grabbing Lea by the hand. The way to tue entrance was short, but blocked from view by several collapsed tents and ruined carts. When Ciri rounded the corner and laid her eyes on what was happening, she was quick to push Lea back behind a large broken down stagecoach. Ciri made a quick count in her head. Three dead in the forest. One she took herself. Left the giant and two others.

Just a few steps from them, one of the three survivors stood nervously, his mace in hand. He was looking over to the Hunter and Morten. The latter was mercilessly clobbering the ground with his sword in futile attempts to hit the former. Apparently, the man with the mace was waiting for a chance to jump in and end the fight. Ciri was about to make him unable to do so, when suddenly, an arrow burrowed itself into the door of the stagecoach, mere centimetres from Lea's face. Lea fell to the ground, staring at the projectile, but Ciri was on the move already.

Drawing from her powers was dangerous. While she and her friends delivered a painful blow to the wild hunt, they were still out there, waiting for another chance. As such, long distance travel was better done on foot or by horse. Short distances however were a different thing.

She vanished in a flash of blue, just as the bowman drew the string of his bow. Skittering, she stopped behind him, throwing up pebbles and dust with her feet. Her hand was quick on her blade and with a powerful swing, before the bowman had a chance to face her completely, she struck him across the side, opening him up. He screamed and dropped his bow, but he did not fall. Instead he pulled a long messer from a sheath on his beld and struck out himself. With his other hand, he held his side. A deep cut, that must have injured something important.

Ciri parried, turned and struck again. Her blade slid down the messer and hit the nail on the crossguard, bouncing off. She immediately disengaged, finding space. The man before her was sluggish, slow, but he was still skilled. She would need to end this soon before Lea was discovered.

She glaced down and found a small wooden crate, just as the bowman yelled in his desperate charge, messer overhead. She hooked her foot around the crate and flung it forward. The thing crashed against his knees, shattering and brought him off balance. He tripped and stumbled, just enough time for Ciri to dash forward and attack.

With a precise swing, she struck across his chest, cutting apart his left arm in the process. She drew her blade back quickly and thrusted, driving it deep into his chest. The bowman fell backwards to the ground, dead, but the man with the mace had noticed them and was coming for her. Closer and closer, soon he would stumble across Lea. Ciri was about to shout out, but suddenly, the maceman was ripped apart by the gargantuan blade of the giant.

The monster swung wildly, blood dripping from numerous cuts across his whole body. He was angry, snarling and desperate to finally hit the Hunter. Again the giant struck and the Hunter jumped back, but now the giant was next to Lea, who had no where to go.

He stretched out his arm to grab her with hands as large as cooking pans, but howled out in pain, when said hand sailed off into the air. The Hunter held his sword high, his shirt stained all over with deep crimson.

"_I _am your opponent." He snarled. The giant screamed obscenities and charged off again, his sword coming down hard where the Hunter was. Was.

He had twisted to the side and brought his blade down again. Blood sprayed him and the ground, as the giant's other arm came apart at his biceps. But the blade had not cut it off completely. The Hunter pulled, but it seemed stuck. Ciri was about to jump in as the giant pulled, impossibly, his sword from the ground, even with his arm almost hacked in two, but she stopped when she sae something she had not expected.

The hunter vanished into grey silvery dust and reappeared behind the giant's back. He drew his arm back, his hand flat and his fingers together and then drove it forward. Cloth, metal armor, skin and muscle, his arm tore through it all. Blood fell in buckets to the floor as he closed his fist inside the giant's gut and pulled. Violently, no restraint, like a beast.

The giant coughed and fell face first into the dirt, shaking the ground around him. The earth around him could not soak up the blood fast enough that poured from his body and ran down towards Lea's feet in a small stream.

No one said anything. Ciri stared, Lea looked like she was in shock and the Hunter...

The Hunter walked over to his looted blade and pulled it free from the dead man's bone. He looked it over, brushed his finger along the edge and frowned as he stuck it into ground. His front and large part of his back amd right shoulder was soaked in blood, his shirt sticking to his skin, as well as his hair on his head.

He looked up when he saw Ciri stepping up to him, blade still in hand and her grip tight. His eyes were the only spot where his face was not crimson red.

"What are you?" She asked. He would have smiled but he realised the weight in her voice.

"I am a Hunter." He answered.

"That explains nothing." She hissed back and added, while gesturing to the dead body next to them:

"No man could do this. So what are you?"

He stared into her, his eyes narrow. A drop of blood fell to the floor and shattered.

"I am no man, I am a Hunter."


	3. Traveler

The journey back was slow, but uneventful. Ciri had her arm around Lea's shoulder, supporting the girl as she was exhausted from the receding adrenaline. She herself felt a bit of fatigue too. At Ciri's request, the Hunter was taking point, where she could keep an eye on him, leading her and poor Lea through the woods, back to Rhinzweig. Halfway, they stopped. For once to give Lea a chance to drink some water from a clear stream and for the man to sit down further downstream to wash off some of the blood. Lea couldn't help but glance at the water as it turned pink, carrying little bits with it. Both her and Ciri, felt a little bit of nausea when he himself noticed that one of his fingernails was loose, as it had been pushed upwards during the struggles, and removed it with a quick tug. If he felt any discomfort, he didn't acknowledge it.

Despite the recent ordeal and Ciri's and the Hunter's shedding of blood, the day seemed to turn in their favour. Where the forest had first been against the ashen haired Girl in her pursuit, the clouds had now vanished completely and the sun shone down on the three of them, warming them in the comfortable breeze. The last few hours aside, it was genuinely nice to be outside, especially after the rampant storm. Only the Hunter's presence seemed out of place, with his soaked garments, wet hair and stony expression. He looked like someone had cut him from one painting and awkwardly placed him in another. Occasionally he glanced back at them as he marched through the underbrush, a strangely gloomy look on his face. Had she possibly been too hard on him? Rude even? She pushed the thought back. Surely he could suck it up and he seemed not confrontational about it. Maybe he understood and somehow that made Ciri feel even more guilty.

When they arrived back it was afternoon. People quickly flocked together, joyous over the return of the innkeeper's daughter. Jürgen, understandably rushed immediately forward to embrace his girl, together with her older sister, all three with tears in their eyes. Kerren even pulled her into a quick hug, his arm now in a sling and bandaged up. All in all, it was a solemn moment and soon Ciri could not save herself from the expressions of gratitude. Jürgen of course was pledging immortal debt to the young woman and free lodging whenever she stayed in town. When the tears of joy had subsided somewhat, Jürgen turned to Ciri again.

"Now, where is that other fellow of yours? He deserves as much thanks as you, I suppose."

She smiled. "Maybe more. He did most of the fighting. I think myself capable with the blade, but he…"

"He was fighting like a devil." Lea said, perhaps more excitedly than appropriate. "None of them stood a chance. I would like to thank him too. He seemed a bit sad when we came back. Didn't say a word."

"Maybe he went to wash up a bit. He did look as if he had crawled from the pit of Sodden itself." Jürgen said, looking around. "He wasn't hurt, was he?"

"Hurt his hand, but the blood is not his." Ciri answered. "I suppose he went to clean himself up, but he didn't have any other clothes, did he?"

"Don't think so. Marie!" He motioned for his older daughter to come closer.

"Yes?"

"Please be a dear and look for the Hunter fellow? I suppose he needs his clothes to be cleaned. Take them to Doris. She knows how to get rid of bloodstains, if there is any hope."

She smiled. "Of course. But someone needs to take care of the guests in the meanwhile."

"I'll do it. Lea should rest a bit for now." He said and both him and Ciri watched the girl hurry off to look for the other man.

"You're a lucky man." Ciri said, smirking.

"I am." He looked at the doorway through which Marie had vanished, smiling. "I only wish my dear Henrietta was still alive to watch them growing up. But still, I am blessed."

* * *

"Mister?" Marie knocked again. No answer, but he was in there. She had heard a chair shift, or something similar.

"I can come back later." She announced, almost ready to turn and go, when the door opened.

He was truly a strange fellow, this Hunter. He was an intimidating sight. Tall, without a doubt fighting fit and his posture had something restless to it, like a cat on the prowl. Then again, his face seemed so boyish in a way. He had wrinkles on his forehead and stubble growing on his chin, yet his eyes, as sharp as they were, seemed to express a constant anxiety. It might be anatomical, however. His upper eyelids curved down to the outside, giving him a look that was not dissimilar to a sad puppy.

In a way, he was handsome. Not beautiful, but for some types, certainly very attractive. His bodily physique did it's part also. His clothes were obviously tailored and clung to his form, without being restrictive. He was lean, but not skinny. She imagined wiry muscle, taut under the formerly white shirt.

"Are you unwell?" He asked. Just now she realized that he had been standing there, his hair and hands still wet.

"I-I am fine." She stammered.

"You have worked up quite a blush. Maybe you have a fever." He continued, eyeing her with concern. "You should drink some water. Stay out of the sun."

"It's nothing!" She said, more forcefully than intended. "I-I… my father sent me to see if you needed anything… and to get your clothes to we see if we could get them clean again. Umm…"

He looked down at his shirt and tugged it a bit.

"This can only be burned." He said. "Blood doesn't wash out so well from white clothes. But my trousers might be salvageable."

She pointed inside. "There might be a robe in the closet. Father thought it to be a good idea for the guests."

He walked over to a wooden cabinet and opened it. He then took out a linen robe from inside and looked it over. It was cheap, but it would do.

"Very progressive." He muttered as his hand went up to unbutton his shirt.

Marie only realized what he did when he shrugged off his shirt. She had almost yelped at the sight of his maltreated skin. Instead she only covered her mouth and averted her eyes. His arms and torso were covered in scars, some more vicious than others. Hundreds of little cuts, dozens of stabs and slashes. Some were very peculiar, like little star shapes of varying sizes. A nasty gash wormed itself from his armpit over the back of his neck. Even Kerren, who had fought his whole live, as far as she knew, did not look so punished.

"I'm sorry. You could've warned me." She said, still looking down the hall, red as a beet.

"Oh." He said. With a sideways glance, she confirmed that he had already pulled off his trousers and was putting on the robe.

"I am sorry. I have not had much company in a long time. I fear that barbarism has taken hold of me somewhat."

He closed his robe and walked over to her, folding his clothes in his hands as he did so.

"I was just surprised." She said, smiling and took the small bundle, before quickly bowing and turning to leave.

"I will bring them back as soon as they're dry." She announced and saw his nodding. Then she hurried down the steps, her heart in her throat.

"Such a nice girl." The Hunter mumbled and closed the door.

He felt strange now, alone and almost naked under the thin linen that reached almost to his ankles. The room was alight in the early afternoon sunshine and felt too easy, too safe. In Yharnam, every corner bore potential harm and more than once he had met his demise at the hands of someone or something bursting from a hiding spot he had been sure to have cleared out. Here, he felt as if the world outside was shut off from the safety of the little chamber. Light wood and white sheets dominated the colours. The scent of soap hung lightly in the air. No wonder Jürgen's inn did well. He and his daughters kept it presentable with passion. He wondered briefly about the mother, but dropped the thought quickly. He had lived through enough tragedy already to chew through, better not to be burdened with the sad story of a good man. Although he knew that most of his opponents in Yharnam had been good people surely.

Now, that everything was taken care of, he did not know what to do. There was a small board with letters branded into them at the door, but he did not recognize the symbols. As of now, the common script was as foreign to him as the ancient glyphs in the dungeons and catacombs below Yharnam, the labyrinthic tombs where the elder blood had first been discovered. He deduced that even though he had deciphered many scripts and codes, solved countless riddles and had glimpsed the eldritch truth, he was a common analphabet here, which unsettled him slightly.

He had learned to adapt and overcome to reach his goal, but as far as he knew, he had served his purpose in the dream. Gehrman had granted him peace and freed him of the night of the hunt, so now he would need to focus on something else. Maybe he would just learn to live here, try to find some peace. Maybe his past would come back, maybe it was better if it didn't.

Learning to read would not be too hard. Learning the customs should not be a factor. In fact the notion of a whole new world to study was intriguing. He had no ties, no task, so he could probably go with the flow and possibly find himself a recluse here. Something to come to terms with the things that had happened to him and with the things he had done.

His eyes fell on his coat, hanging from a nail in the wall. It had served him well through the fire and the blood. With time, he had become rather attached to the waterproofed, woollen article. In the lining, carefully, he had sewn the small trinkets he had collected. A white cloth, tied up into a complicated metal knot, a small silver sword, Eileen's crow medallion, the tonsil stone. Even if he had been fully clothed, he would feel naked here. His weapons were missing and no simple sword would fix that. The cheap and amateurishly crafted sword he had wielded against the brigands had felt like a dried up sunflower when compared to the Blades of Mercy, the Sawcleaver and Ludwig's Moonlight Sword, but he had fought with worse. A Hunter's fighting style was versatile and ruthless. Some even called it ugly, as a Hunter felt no need of honor beyond the obligatory bow to an adversary. When steel clashes and blood flows, no rule is worth one's life.

He could surely make himself useful as a practitioner of medicine, of which he had learned plenty. Maybe even cheat a bit with the help of the arcane arts he had picked up.

He grabbed the sleeve of his coat. The material was thick and heavy. Dark and foreboding. For a moment he pondered if he'd actually have a shot at a peaceful time. Thinking back to Lea and the brigands, he felt not so sure anymore. Hadn't death followed him wherever he went? Hadn't he always found some new prey to stalk? To slaughter?

It would creep back into his existence like a cancerous growth, like a spreading infection. You could stall it, but rarely purge it entirely. Almost he could feel the cold steel of the sawcleavers handle, the rough cloth tied around it to increase it's grip and to prevent his hands from slipping when they got… wet.

There was a knock on his door, louder and stronger than before. It couldn't be Marie again, could it? Had he stood here for such a long while? Staring at his coat like a vegetable?

It was not Marie. Instead, he looked into the face of the magician, mage, wizard? He stepped inside unasked and introduced himself as Ludd of Grisa. A sorcerer. Well, he would go with sorcerer from now then.

Their eyes met, one pair curious and dark, the others light and narrow. There was no suspicion in existence the Hunter hadn't had yet and in the face of this man, he had a very uncomfortable feeling.

"You look hesitant, good Hunter." Ludd said and the Hunter recoiled, even if just slightly. Yet the sorcerer undoubtedly noticed his reaction to his title being said out loud.

"I am fine. Just the term. It is familiar."

The sorcerer raised an eyebrow.

"Really? What coincidence. Though it is a fine entry to what I was going to discuss with you."

"I have yet to decide if I'm in the mood for discussion."

The sorcerer smiled.

"We scholars of the magical, we all acquire a certain sense. Anyone with a connection to the arcane do, really, but only through many studies and practice, this sense becomes culpable and can be analysed."

The Hunter nodded and Ludd continued.

"I myself have spent a considerable amount of time trying to… seize a solid grasp on this mere feeling and I believe myself to have come to some success with it."

The Hunter nodded again, patiently.

"So I was unable to overlook the obvious aura you carry with you. It is certainly an impressive amount of force you keep captive. Did you know any of that?"

"Yes."

"Yet the energy feels entirely alien to me. Not like the fiery chaos I have become accustomed to, but rather something deeper and calmer, maybe something like… like-"

The Hunter faced him fully.

"Like deep waters.Yes. Yes, quite so." Ludd murmured to himself. "A heavy burden I suppose?"

"I have grown with it."

The sorcerer nodded, like in deep thought. His eyes rested on the Hunter for a while, then on the coat, then on the Hunter's hands.

"I know someone of great skill, who would have an immense interest for this potential of yours. She has guided someone with different but comparable… gifts like yours and helped her with great success."

The Hunter's eyes narrowed slightly. Though he did appreciate the relative openness of the proposal, he did not willingly entertain the idea of having his knowledge become widespread and scholars had the annoying tendency to share their findings with other scholars, which did not sound good to him.

"You don't seem to thrilled? Not keen on indulging the sciences?"

"No." The Hunter said. "I appreciate the suggestion, but I believe that what I learned will best remain undisclosed."

"Aaah…" The sorcerer breathed, a knowing look on his face. Possibly he had a secret or two of his own which he kept for the safety of others, who were not farsighted enough to anticipate their consequences.

"Well, at the least she might possibly be in need for a capable hand. Tell her I have referred you and she might provide you with work for a while. That is if you have no other plans for now. You seem aimless."

The Hunter snorted. " I am. Thank you for the help. Where would I find this acquaintance of yours?"

Ludd smiled. "She lives in Novigrad for now. It's the largest city in the region. Just go west and keep on the path to Oxenfurt and past that. From Oxenfurt it's just a day's ride away to Novigrad. Her name is Yennefer of Vengerberg. But let me warn you, she can come across as calloused. She would never admit her own compassion."

"I can deal with that." The Hunter answered chucking lightly as he turned towards the door where the mage was headed.

"Oh and good Hunter." He turned around in the open door frame.

"Yes?"

"Do rest a bit. It can only benefit a fractured mind like yours."

* * *

It was almost night when Ciri saw Marie walk back inside the tavern with a black bundle of clothes under her arm and a plain grey linen shirt in the other hand. She watched her walk by, greeting patrons and smiling, before she stopped shortly at the narrow stairway towards the upper quarters. She seemed hesitant, almost unsure, but then she balled her left fist and ascended to the second floor. Ciri could not tell what made Marie reconsider and what convinced her otherwise, but the clothes were the Hunter's and she had witnessed a bit of him earlier that day. To say he was intimidating was putting it lightly after what she'd seen. The manner in which he had taken the brigands apart had reminded her of how wraiths hunted their prey. They were invisible and soundless when they prowled, but merciless and brutal when they materialized and attacked. It was nigh impossible to outrun a spirit, though luckily most wraiths were bound to a location or an object and would give up their pursuit when one was far enough away. If they were bound to a being, that would only spell that unfortunate creatures end.

She remembered his duel with the giant at the miners camp. A man of impressive stature and plated in armor and mail, yet the Hunter had not only dissolved and reappeared within the blink of an eye, she could do something similar, but he had also punched through the metal, the leather, the skin and muscle with his bare hand. Surely, impressive martial arts existed, but this manoeuvre had seemed not only impossible, but also… wrong. Like some foreign power had enabled the Hunter's fist to just ignore physics and slip right into the flesh.

The mere thought provoked a nauseous feeling to rise in her chest. It was not uncommon to hear of magically enabled creatures to use their gifts in less than socially adequate ways and of course also in combat. Dark arts these were called, though Ciri knew from first hand reports that nothing like a "dark art" existed. Magic was violent by nature, thus the name of it's source "chaos". It mattered only how well one channelled it and where and how it was directed.

So the Hunter could use the chaos, or at least he siphoned substantial power from something similar. Werewolves for example could actually hit hard enough for their claws to puncture armor, something usually impossible for a man. Vampires had such sharp claws that mail would part under them like steak under a razor, but the Hunter was at least not a conventional high vampire. The amount of blood should have driven him crazy and also, as far as she knew, vampires did not develop scar tissue like normal humans.

It was unsettling to know that upstairs, someone was staying who would be able to dismantle a knight with his bare fists and who was also extensively trained in swordsmanship. Then again, hadn't she seen more incredible things yet? Flying vehicles and people with steel in their heads, waging war from afar? What was this Hunter's little display of death compared to the towers of glass she had already seen with her own eyes?

Nothing. Because it was not what unsettled her so much. It was something far subtler and, so much she felt, far more strange than she could tell.

Marie came back down the stairs, searching for her father, who was chastising a patron for spilling his drink on the wooden wall. The dwarf nodded like a beaten puppy before Jürgen slapped him on the shoulder and ushered him back to his chair, turning around to get a rag.

"Father."

"Yes."

She opened her hands and Ciri saw the shine of polished metal flash in the candlelight.

"The Hunter has found some coins in his coat. He said they might be worthless as currency, but they might be rare metals."

Jürgen took a white golden coin and held it towards the light, trying to decipher the strange symbols on it's face. He seemed clueless, but the dwarf from before spoke up, his voice loud and deep.

"Meister! I kno' a bit about gems 'n expensive metals. Worked under a jeweller for quite some time."

He closed in, beckoning for Jürgen to let him see the things. He took one, turned it, rubbed it, bit it and looked at it again. Then he handed it back.

"It's gold. I don't kno' if it's just thick plated, or if it's pure. Would need t' smelt it down to kno' that. Hand me that one."

Marie gave him a smaller, silver coin. He held it to the light.

"Oooh, this' mighty strange." The dwarve's eyes never left the shiny thing as he spoke.

Ciri's interest peaked. She put down her cup and moved closer. The coin seemed to shimmer in the light, the reflections changing.

"It's beautiful." Marie whispered, also entranced by what she saw. Ciri got closer.

The metal was… swirling about. No. It was solid, but the pattern seemed to move with the angle from which it was looked on. It's silvery sheen threw the light apart in a spectacular display, akin to a turmoiled pool of water.

"What is this?" Marie asked, still staring at the small silver plate.

"Dunno." The dwarf answered, equally as puzzled. "Might've been folded and hammered, but that pattern is nothin' I've seen before."

"Is it valuable?" Jürgen asked.

"From the looks of it. Hard t' say. What did the good man want ya t' do with it?"

"Mmhm." Marie tore her gaze from the coin. "He said he needed to pay for lodging and cleaning of his clothes somehow. As I said, he said they might not be valid coin, but the material could have worth."

"So he's willing t' part with 'em?"

"Surely, yes. He did not seem overly attached to them and I believe he has more."

"I don't want no gold or spooky silver in my house." Jürgen spoke up from between them.

"I have no interest in housing bait for bandits and the like. The reason Rhinzweig has thrived so much is that we buy tools for building and armor for Kerren's men with the coin we have. A treasure like this would only attract thieves and riff raff."

"Then me and me friends could buy it?" The dwarf said, more to Marie than anyone else.

"Possibly." She said. "He is currently upstairs, taking stock of his belongings."

"Splendid!" The dwarf called out, laughed and after a short talk with his companions, he and another one rushed upstairs, a thick purse in the hand of the other one. Just now, Jürgen and Marie noticed Ciri standing before them.

"Seems like he got it covered." Jürgen chuckled while Ciri and Marie just exchanged looks. The Hunter didn't show up again this day.

* * *

"You're comfortable with anything?" Kerren asked as he and the Hunter strode through Rhinzweig's humble armoury. There was a decent amount of polearms, some axes and swords and some expertly crafted bows among the collection on one side. The other side was reserved for armor. Leather, mail and one spare piece of plate. The meagre light that shone in from the morning sun painted everything a dull grey.

"I can do with anything. I have used much, but I am still a devout student of the sword."

"Ah. Could've guessed." Kerren nodded, careful to keep his broken arm calm in it's sling.

"We have some and I am willing to part with them for a low price. With what you've done for us already. We have arming swords to spare. One or two short ones and this one here. It has been sitting quite a while here, since we try to have as many men shielded as possible."

He pointed to a rack in the corner, out of sight, where a trio of axes hung heads down and on top, the long and slender blade of a long sword shimmered in the light.

"A skelliger smith made it a few years back. Had a small shop here, but decided to move on.This one here is made in the Novigrad style."

The Hunter took up the sword, fingers sliding down the black grip, before he twitched his wrist and caught it just beneath the crossguard. It was curved upwards on one and downwards on the other side to make it effective as a hook. The blade itself was strong, with a hexagonal cross section and a short blunt portion just above the crossguard. It tapered gently towards the point, but was still strong to allow good thrusting.

He felt along the blade. It was sharp. Very much so and as the Hunter whipped it harshly up and down with the flat side up, he noticed it's flexibility. Just slightly, but he had wielded spring steel before. This was a good blade. It wouldn't abandon him so quickly as the bandit's sword did.

"You feel quite comfortable with it." Kerren said, watching the Hunter as he made a small practice move to test it's balance. He took it upwards toward the ceiling and looked it up and down, taking in the small traces of time and the minor blemishes on the weapon.

"Yes. I would prefer this one, certainly." He answered.

"Then take it. It's only sitting here anyway."

"How much do you want for it?"

Kerren chuckled. "It's a gift. I would've charged you for one we'd actually use, but this one, even though it's a solid piece, has been collecting dust for the longest time."

"You know how to use a two handed blade." The Hunter said, cocking his head to the side.

"Ah. Yes, I do. But to be honest, I prefer a shield to go with my weapon. Makes me feel better, you know."

The Hunter knew. Shields were fine, as long as they didn't hinder oneself. To him, shields had never been useful. The hunt required aggression and dominance. Rather he'd carry two weapons for different ranges, or one for armour and one for flesh.

"I thank you, master Kerren." He said, while taking the scabbard and sheathing the long weapon in a single precise movement.

"No, sir Hunter. I thank you. If not for you and miss Ciri, today would be much bleaker of a day. What will you do now, now that you have coin and a blade?"

"I haven't thought of it too much." The Hunter confessed. "The sorcerer, Ludd, has pointed me towards a colleague of his. A sorceress by the name of Yennefer of Vengerberg. I am curious, I do admit."

Kerren pulled in air through his teeth. "Ahh, you better be careful with mages and the likes. They are tricky for sure and they're not exactly welcome in the kingdom at this time. Here in Rhinzweig, we don't care much for someone's upbringing as long as they're decent, but elsewhere… the people might rat you out to the church, if they hear someone asking about witches and wizards."

The Hunter looked at Kerren for a moment, before nodding. He did know what a purge was. Holocaust some would say. It seemed some things were the same anywhere you went.

"I will be careful. If she is in hiding, I wouldn't want to harm her. Though if the sorcerer knew of her whereabouts, he should be trustworthy, shouldn't he?"

"Oh." Kerren snorted. "Sorcerers never are. They see themselves as a higher tier of being. But that's just what power does. In the end they're people like you and me. They're scared and they're hurt the same way. That's what we say here."

"Hm." The Hunter nodded, regarding the sheathed sword in his hand. It was truly a good piece. He almost felt bad for accepting it. Then again, he had never hesitated to pilfer a dead corpse or a slain opponent for tools or weapons. Soon enough, he was sure, he would try to craft a new sawcleaver. As barbaric as the weapon was, he had never had greater success against larger enemies than with the heavy, toothed hacksaw that it was. The sword was… more elegant, though against humans equally destructive. Faster and more agile, thus, much more precise. Given some time and the right tools, he could even try his hand at creating a firearm for himself. Maybe he had gained enough understanding to build one from the ground up.

Without him noticing too muchmuch, they had left the room and Kerren locked the door behind them.

"Well. It has been my pleasure. Do say goodbye if you depart today. I have some things to do. I got to meet with the commander of the corpses you left and have some men bury them so the ghouls don't find them."

"Yes. Take care."

The Hunter watched Kerren walk off, taking great care to avoid the door frames in his path. Standing in the guardhouse, he felt comfortable with his newly acquired weapon. In a way it had a lot in common with, for him, known equivalents from the late medieval period. Yharnam still had use for such relics, where the more modern firearms did often not more than annoy a charging beast. Combining the workshop's spontaneous way of combat with his growing knowledge of italian, german and minor fencing schools made for an unanticipatedly effective method of ending lives.

Now he needed to know how to find his way around and focus on a goal. His first step would be to procure rations and directions and head east towards Oxenfurt from where, he'd heard, it was a mere one day walk to Novigrad. Reaching Oxenfurt was a more complicated undertaking. He would need five to seven days, assuming that he wouldn't meet a merchant caravan which he could pay for a ride.

Alone the fact that he could pay for anything was a large step forward. The dwarven group he had met had provided him with a good sum for his coins and further, as they didn't seem convinced it was enough, had provided him a letter of entitlement which he could exchange for another sum of money when he reached Novigrad and gave it to a banker by the name Vivaldi. Upon inquiry of it's worth, Jürgen had assured him that the total amount was enough to buy a house and live from the rest for a good amount of time without having to work.

Not that he was afraid of finding work. His journey through the Hunt had awarded him ample endurance and strength, as well as being far harder to harm than any other human being. He could definitely find employment as a manual labourer until he had adapted enough and learned the script.

As he pondered, he had wandered outside where he was greeted by a friendly and mild morning breeze. The light shone starkly through the branches of nearby trees and left a nice pattern on the grass and dirt. Birds sang, which was a sound so far forgotten that it seemed unnatural to him. A goose crossed his path, angrily squawking at him as he stopped to let it pass, before half a dozen hatchlings hurried after it, their little feet leaving tiny marks in the mud. A dog barked somewhere behind him and here and there, he saw a face or a silhouette of people going by their morning business.

A less steeled man had maybe jumped or gasped when he turned around and only narrowly avoided to smash Cirilla in the stomach with the heft of his sword. In his head, he was hectic for a split second, but on the outside, he only raised a brow as he angled his weapon somewhere harmless.

"Mornin'." She said, looking up at him. "I saw you enter with the captain. I see you have gotten a hold of a new weapon."

He looked down at his sword. Surely his constant pausing and stalling made him seem like a simpleton, but the people here commented so easily on anything that happened. It was strange to him to hear someone comment on his healthy appetite or even greet him. He did not know how his time on the Hunt translated in the waking world but to him it had seemed as if eons had passed without human contact. He had grown accustomed to only conversing with the plain doll or the shy chapel dweller. Even then he had been soft spoken. He guessed that he had never been a strong talker.

"I did." He said and after a short pause added: "I planned on setting out soon. The sorcerer has suggested me to go towards the east. There is a city called Novigrad there."

"I know." She said. "I plan to go there. I only meant to stay for a night here, but I promised Lea to stay for today."

He nodded.

"We could travel there together if you'd like. The roads are relatively safe most of the time, but it never hurts to have another pair of eyes with you."

"Or another swordhand."

She grinned. "Yes. Though I believe you would be fine by yourself."

"Concerned about your own health?" He asked, eyeing her more closely.

"Not too much. I've been doing well by myself. But it is much more relaxing to be able to actually sleep through a night."

He looked at his blade once more. A few strokes of a grindstone and a new coat of oil would do it good.

"Tomorrow then. You plan to set out early?"

She nodded. "I'll get something for breakfast from Jürgen. You don't mind getting up early?"

"I don't."

She nodded, before wishing him a good day and walking off. He had a few more things to do. He needed to collect some provisions, maybe another set of clothes. He would need a satchel or a rucksack to carry his new belongings. He hadn't noticed at first, but the little messengers who had normally accompanied his every step, were nowhere to be found. It was strange to be alone again. Even though their visages were horribly deformed, they had given him some sense of comfort with their cheerful attitudes. Now where was he?

* * *

Seeing him just stand there, was an uncommon sight for sure. The man was tall and lean, imposing, yet he seemed so very lost as he stood there in front of the guard house. She turned around again and continued. She had promised Lea to keep her company today and the girl would be up now. All of Jürgen's family were early risers. Had to be, to service the inn.

When she got back she saw her and Marie already working on a bare nail sticking up from where before one of the steps of the stairs to second floor had been. Apparently it had been broken loose and now the irritating piece of metal jad to be removed before the board could be set back in place. Lea, who was shorter and more slender was on her back below the stairs with a pair of pliers, while Marie stood above, with a hammer in her hand.

"I just don't understand why someone would hammer in a nail from below." Lea groaned from the floor. "Give it another whack, would you?"

Marie hit the bottom of the nail and it shrunk into the wood, bending it's spike while doing so. Lea tried her luck again.

"It's stuck. Father said it's just a nail. I'm soo sure he would be done with this in a second and build a completely new staircase somewhere else."

Ciri couldn't help but chuckle. Lea heard her and called out. "Ciri. Help us with this, will y-" Just as she spoke Marie hit the nail again and easily half a handful of dust separated from the wood and fell onto the younger sister's face. She coughed and spat out hard. Equal amounts of expletives and dust as she cleared her throat. Marie clasped her hands in front of her own mouth.

"Oh, Li, I'm so sorry, don't say things like that! Are you fine? Where did you learn those filthy words?"

"Uhm…"

"It's because you hang around these soldier types so much."

"They're nice."

Marie put her hands on her hips. "They were to me too, before I was engaged with a decent man. They are horny little rascals, the lot."

"Ciri?" Lea pleaded with puppy eyes. Ciri just shrugged.

"They leave me alone. Maybe because they know I can beat most of them up. But I don't think they're all such perverts. Kerren is a nice man."

"Kerren is… a grown man. Most of the guards are boys in mind."

Ciri smiled and pulled Lea up from where she sat. "Lemme take a look at that thing."

Marie handed her the hammer and without another second of hesitation, the tool cracked down on the pointy metal. The nail pinged off the floor and rolled away.

"Phew. Now I feel inadequate." Marie smiled though while she said that and took the hammer back. "You go and have fun sis. I'll see that the new step is properly fixed."

A few minutes later, Ciri was on Lea's heels, sauntering over the green fields behind Rhinzweig. Far away enough so they were alone and close enough to make it back safe if something happened. Ciri was glad that Jürgen's kids weren't as adventurous as she had been.

Ciri's mare was some distance away, feeding peacefully and relaxed on some tall bushes behind the inn. There were other horses, but she didn't know who they belonged to. A goose was sitting on the side, watching the larger animal curiously. The wind sent a light breeze through the surrounding area, making the trees swing gently.

"Are you sure you want to leave so soon?" Lea asked as they had sat down on top of a fence. "You still haven't taught me how to properly fence."

Ciri smiled. "I have promised Yennefer to meet her in Novigrad. I'm already late. And it's best not to keep her waiting too long."

Lea nodded. "She's a frightening woman, that sorceress.

"She's very nice. She just doesn't want to appear weak. She was very lonely when Gerald met her."

"Will he come back sometimes?"

"I'm sure, but who knows what he's up to right now. Witchers can be hard to get a hold on."

"And the Hunter?" Lea said while watching the goose waddle around the edge of the house and plant itself in the shadow.

"He is coming with me some part of the way. He doesn't know where to go, I guess. So he goes to Novigrad."

"Did you ask him to?" Lea asked with a slight grin.

"No. He said he would go there and I said I was headed there too. Don't get any ideas!" Both laughed.

For a few minutes, both girls shared a moment of silence, just taking in the surroundings. There was a strange feeling that hung in the air. Like something had changed, but it was impossible to say what.

"I hope he will find his way." Lea said softly. Ciri only nodded.

* * *

Some oil, a grindstone and a good sponge, that was all he needed to make the blade from a good one, to a fine one. Weapons he had wielded in Yharnam had always been made from the best materials or at least through the most advanced methods available. He didn't think that someone would waste springsteel on something as crude as a sawcleaver, but it had been engineered to perfection. The blades of mercy had been made from a metal that was extracted from meteorites and as such were as pure and as durable as the imagination allowed.

But this longsword was exceptionally well made too. It was strong but flexible, even without sharpening it still had maintained a considerable edge and it was perfectly balanced. The craftsman behind this piece was surely very experienced.

He spent the next few hours on maintenance of the weapon before he was sufficiently content with it's surface and edge. He had rewrapped the hilt and checked the screw which held the pommel. It was as tight as it could be.

Then, he made to buy himself a bag. He found one good satchel with a nice woman in front of the cobblers house. She sold it to him after some slight persuasion, even though he was sure she only wanted to smalltalk with him. He left her unsure if he had possibly been ripped off. Haggling was out of the question until he had learned the worth of currency in this land.

From a merchant he bought a few rolls, bread, cheese, some smoked meat and a sizeable canteen for water.

When he was finished, dusk was settling. The sun would fall in a few minutes and he wanted to be ready for tomorrow. The small period of time in this place had brought the joys of actual sleep back to him. To let oneself drift away and indulge in a few hours of undisturbed peace. Of course, this was only when the nightmares wouldn't come, which they did a lot, but there was always the chance of a quiet night.

He greeted Jürgen, gave the man some coin for his accommodations, even though the man refused at first and continued towards his room. A woman lounged in a chair in front of the stairs, a burning pipe in her hand which exuded the slightest aroma of lavender. She looked up to him with a sensuality in her eyes which he hadn't seen for a long time, meaning he considered it a possibility, but he could not clearly remember.

He nodded and wished her a good night, ignoring the smile and subtle show of disappointment from her. He wouldn't know how to get in the mood for it anyway and he had no idea how safe it was in this world to indulge in such carnal relations with a lady of the night.

He allowed himself some fresh water when he reached his room and prepared for the night. He took off his clothes and placed the blade to the left of his bed, away from the door, so anyone breaking in would not see it or make to steal it. He then thought about issuing a short prayer, but he didn't know which gods would listen to his pleas. He didn't even know what to plead for, so he let it be.

When the sun had fallen completely, he extinguished his candle, made himself comfortable under the covers and soon felt himself drift off, hoping for a dreamless rest.

* * *

He was on the bridge. That damned bridge. Behind him were the dismembered and disemboweled bodies of his adversaries, he himself covered in their blood. Only two widened eyes, staring down from within the black and red of his silhouette. Down towards the bottom of the bridge, where the sewers began.

He had told her to run, to find Odeon chapel and find shelter there. The chapel dweller would make sure she was kept secure until morning came. He had told her he would find her and keep her safe, but he needed to hold off the monsters. Fight down the beasts. He had told her to be quick in the sewers. The beasts are slow, but they have no remorse nevertheless. But he hadn't seen this before. This bloated, rotten and disfigured pig that stood down there, sticking it's head out of a gateway. How had he not seen this vile monster before?

His eyes were fixed on it's salivating snout, where, bloodied and lifeless, the eyes of father Gascoigne's daughter stared up at him, accusingly.

That was the first day that he felt true hate and left himself to be consumed by rage. But he had soon found out that these primal emotions were not foreign to him, but part of his own nature.

Only when he had found his way back to the chapel, he had been able to lift the red veil in front of his eyes. He had collapsed in front of the old woman and retched, only to rise again. But when he reached the dried up well outside, he felt a knife strike down on his shoulder.

Now too, sister Adella's dead eyes looked up to him, her slender body parted in two at the waist. He had retaliated on reflex and for Adella, there was no coming back. She had become prey to the beast inside him. The monster.

Him.

* * *

Ciri quickly learned that her attempts to hold the Hunters body calm were futile. He overpowered her in an instant and stood next to his bed, back against a wall, his eyes searching frantically and only, finally stopping on her. As he realized that he was in his room in Jürgen's inn, he visibly calmed. His breathing slowed down, his pupils narrowed and his shoulder slumped down.

"I am sorry." He almost whispered, alternating his gaze between Ciri and Lea, who, as he realized, stood in the door frame, a worried expression on her face.

"It's fine. You seemed to have a terrible nightmare. You didn't open the door, so we came in."

"Did I make you wait?" He asked. Ciri smiled.

"No. But I heard you through the walls. My room is next to yours."

"I see." His chest was still twitching occasionally, the labyrinth of scars stretching and contracting with each breath. "I apologize then. I did not wish to worry either of you."

"It is fine, really." Lea answered from the door. "Are you feeling unwell, do you need something?"

He shook his head. "Thank you. Though I fear that further sleep will evade me now. Miss Cirella, when did you plan on departing. I see you are already fully dressed."

"Within the hour. I have organized a bite to eat and said my goodbyes to the girls. Though I remember that you don't have a horse."

"Regrettably." He nodded.

"Then I hope you don't mind to ride double. I would rather be quick until Oxenfurt. The roads are relatively safe, but not entirely."

He nodded again. Though he was sure that there was not much in these woods he couldn't vanquish he agreed that avoiding confrontation was always the better option.

Better to have the blade handy nevertheless.

* * *

Yennefer of Vengerberg sat on her terrace, leaned back on a lavish mahagoni chair and a pitcher of fruit juice in a pitcher on a small side table next to her. She looked over the city of Novigrad, contemplating the storm that had passed shortly and the strange dream that she had.

It had been one of her nightly sessions of lucid sleep that she liked to entertain. She always found great joy in the worlds she had the power to create within dreams. Normally these were almost limitless, bound only to her own comfort and imagination, but this time, the dream had resisted her. Ever so slightly at first, with things changing and returning to their earlier states, then it started to fight her.

The luscious green meadows she had thought up, changed and withered. The trees darkened and contorted into crippled caricatures. And then came the fire.

Suddenly, she was engulfed in a sea of flame, smoke filling her view, even though she didn't feel the heat or the fumes in her lungs. The ground turned to ash, the trees into black, smoldering husks and the sky turned an unpleasant and bright orange. Somewhere she had heard a bell, tiny and light, but clear as breaking glass.

It took a good amount of effort to will the fires to die down, but she did not manage to restore the grass to grow back or the trees to come back to life. Instead, she stared down a road of rough cobblestone, rimmed on both sides with statues of people in horrible agony. Their spindly arms reached towards the sky as their robes clung to malnourished bodies, with mouths and eyes wide in terror.

A white headstone stood at the end of the road, small white flowers growing around it, trembling in the shallow wind that carried more ash and tinder across Yennefer's field of view. She walked towards it, now completely out of control of her own dream, but as ever, scientifically curious and intrigued as to what the meaning of this, her session might be. Visions were not uncommon, though always critically scrutinized and to be taken with a generous side of salt.

The statues to her sides seemed as if they were warping, their hands reaching, their necks tilting as she closed further in towards the white grave. Wind was picking up now, swirling up ashes and petals from these small white flowers which, as Yennefer noticed, were everywhere through the forest. Her clothes flapped in one direction, then in another, threatening to pull her with them occasionally and somewhere in the rushing of air, there was a whisper or a far away chanting in a language she did not know but understood.

"Dido tus."

Spread the word.

"Timere!"

Be afraid.

"Timere venena scitis."

Fear the poison.

"Sanguine sanctum."

The holy blood.

"Invocate nomina deorum vestrorum."

Call upon your gods.

"Et advenit venandi."

The Hunter arrives.

Suddenly, the wind stopped. The whispering vanished and the ashes and petals fell to the ground. The trees stood still and a complete and perfect silence pressed itself on the land around the sorceress. She took a hand to her chest where a knot seemed to tighten around her heart. Yennefer was by no means frail in spirit or mind. She was powerful enough to will herself not to crumble under the oppressive power and she was courageous to the point that whatever might come, she knew she could face it. But she admitted that it filled her with an unfamiliar fear, this pressure around her and she knew that only a being of substantial power would ever illicit such a phenomenon. Then again, this was still just a dream, she was sure. It had to be.

The sky turned a fierce red and something in front of her moved. She had come close to the headstone, only a few meters separating her from it. On it, in carefully carved runes, in a foreign script, was a name, or a description. She could not read it, nor could understand it like the chanting before, but she felt something, an idea or a thought, form in the back of her mind. It was strange, painful even but she wanted to feel it as she had never felt anything like it before. It bounded through her mind like a bolt of lightning, fell apart and regenerated until it finally reached her conscious thoughts and consolidated into a single, screamed word. A cry of terror that made her recoil harshly from the grave.

Beast.

The gravestone broke apart and the soil eroded and fell into itself. Yennefer almost did not dare to take a look inside, but she willed herself to it. Shivering, she peeked over the edges of the hole to see something, someone inside, moving and clawing at the walls, dragging itself, himself up to the surface.

A man.

He climbed out of the grave, his naked body slick with blood, dirt and soil clung to his limbs and chest, his face concealed by an unnatural shadow that stuck to his head like a mask. She had stepped back, almost fallen when he had pulled himself from the abyss, now on his knees, dripping like a newborn and spitting up vile liquids.

But he was not frail, he was tall and slender, but covered in muscle. His hands were tools of death and his eyes, which stared forward from the darkness, unwavering, were searchlights.

She had only seen something like this a few times. She had seen the power of vampires and she had stared down the forces of the wild hunt. Those had been old and equally powerful creatures, which were tailored to fight and exceedingly dangerous, she knew. But this…

… this man was a different thing.

He had erected himself to his full height, while the torched forest around them had again started to burn. Flames framed him as he stood there, looking down at Yennefer, who felt weak and naked compared to this abominable power that showed to herself. Only a single thought kept her mind together. This is all a dream. It is a dream, a nightmare.

Only a nightmare.

She had awoken on a sheet that was soaked in sweat and she had needed almost twenty minutes to rid herself of the crawling feeling on her skin. She had asked one of the retainers to prepare a bath for herself and the woman obliged, noticing the shaken state in which the sorceress was. Yennefer stayed awake the whole night then and only found sleep again the following evening. The dream was still very much alive in her, haunting her thoughts. She thought it might've been the storm, but it had been so explicit and so constricting that she doubted the nightmare to have been only a mere coincidence. It's meaning evaded her of course, but should it have been a vision indeed, it might reveal itself to her if she only stayed vigilant.

Content for now, she crossed her slender legs and now, allowed herself a glass before she would start her day.

* * *

"You sound bored." Ciri said as she steered her mare around a wide corner in the road. She and the Hunter had made good time for the day and now were on the lookout for a good place to stay the night. The area around them was dense forest, so finding a truly sheltered spot was not as easy as she had wished. The hunter sat behind her. She had found great amusement in the fact that he was very unsure where to get a hold with his hands at first. Her saddle was meant for one person only and while he had found a spot to sit, he had been uncomfortable with holding on to her sides at first. He had been fine with balancing on his own at first when she rode slowly, but since she didn't want to waste daylight she soon sped her horse up considerably. He then had no other choice than to put his hands on her hips, otherwise he would fall down.

"I am not." He answered.

"Really?" Ciri said while looking over her shoulder. "What did I say then right now, huh?"

"You were saying that, while the older beastiaries are, off course more comprehensive, their authors often are unwilling to acknowledge new findings about the creatures described. As such it is useful to keep your own notes."

She looked for a moment and smiled. "You did listen!"

"As I said. I am also impressed that such a detailed catalogue exists and that warriors no less created it."

"A witcher is not just a warrior." She said. They were now entering a long stretch of grassy land, where trees only occasionally dotted the landscape.

"As well as a Hunter." He answered. "It seems our professions have much in common."

"I am no witcher."

"How come? As far as you have explained it to me, you do all the things a witcher does."

She shrugged. "Witchers are always men. Also, they are mutants. Made to be more resilient and faster and stronger."

There was a pause as Ciri steered her horse of the road and towards a large oak that stood atop a small hill. Obviously to set up camp there.

"You have vanished into thin air and reappeared behind your foe to deliver a killing blow. Can a witcher do that?"

"No. Not that I knew." She raised an eyebrow. So he had seen it and he had remembered.

"And is, or is that not a colossal boon against any enemy, human or monster?"

"Look." Ciri turned a bit in her saddle. "What you are trying is sweet, but I didn't mean that I am less powerful than a witcher and that I wished to be. I do the job of one occasionally and I do it just as well, but I can not be one. It is a term for male mutants of exactly that kind. As much as you can not be a bird, even if you really wished, I can and won't be a witcher."

"I see."

"But, they are still very cool." She added.

He nodded. "I concur."

They reached the tree as the sun almost threatened to fall below the horizon. Shadows were long as they quickly gathered some sticks for a fire and settled to have a meal and rest for the night. The warmth of the campfire was mild and nice on the Hunter's face. He had left his mask and coat off for the longest time today, but now he had found that the coat helped him with staying warm. Ciri had wrapped herself in a woolen blanket and gnawed on a bit of sausage she had produced from her provisions.

"So, what does a Hunter do?" She asked, suddenly.

"Hm." He hesitated. "It is fairly similar to a witcher, I suppose. Though I have never requested coin during my hunt."

"Charitable man, huh?" He saw a small grin.

"No." He answered. "There was no one to pay me for my services. I wandered and pushed on and when the night had ended, I had slain enough for a lifetime."

"When the night had ended? You have been a Hunter only for a night?"

He paused again, staring into the cinders at the edge of the fire before he explained further. "Not only a few hours." He almost smiled there. "The hunt I was part of, it had distorted time and everything else. One night was enough to make most go mad, some become addled from the blood and all of them to become experienced killers. You see, when the night of the hunt falls, I does not simply go by. The hunt always carries on until someone ends it."

"You are talking of this hunt as if I should know it." She said as she laid down on her mat, her blanket pulled up over her chest. "What is it?"

"Well…" He started, but he was lost for an explanation. What was the hunt. Was it something the Moon Presence instigated, or Mergo, or maybe even the church themselves? He didn't know if he had actually broken the cycle, or if he had simply escaped. Gehrmann had said to set him free. Was this true? Was he free? From what?"

"... I am unsure." He finally said. "It always sounded to me like a disease that affects not only the people and animals, but also the materium and the dreams. Beings of vile power just… toy with the rules on earth and it can only stop when they are either dead, or they lose interest."

"Beings?"

"Yes."

"Gods?" She asked. She looked as if she was being read a scary night time story.

"No." He answered with finality. "Gods can't be killed."

He stared into the flames. How much he would give for a roll of tobacco now, to soothe his spirits. Ciri didn't know, but he still felt such hatred, such fury against the great ones. At least those which had opposed him. He also felt guilt. Guilt for the little Gascoigne girl of course, for sister Adella, for Alfred, Arianna, Ludwig and even Ebrietas, who had been left behind and been subjected to study by this abominable choir of the church. The poor orphan he had to slay at the coast of the fishing hamlet. And then…

"You do remind me of her. Just a little bit." He muttered, but Ciri had heard. She looked up at him.

"Of who?"

He looked back at her. The eyes were different. She was not like her. Why did he even care when he had only seen Maria once truly.

"Someone I knew back then. A good woman. Kind, I would guess."

"You would guess? Didn't know her too well then?"

He hesitated. "No." He had never known anyone very well in Yharnam. Ciri was as familiar to him as anyone he remembered.

"Hm." Ciri leaned back into her mat again, looking up at the stars. "What happened to her?"

He had returned his gaze into the fire again, not much answering. Maybe, she thought, he didn't want to talk about it. Maybe she shouldn't pry.

"I'm sorry." She said. He did not look at her, but he smiled. With the gentle light from the flames and without his mask, he looked rather friendly, compared at least to how he seemed when he had stalked through the woods or even Rhinzweig.

"It's alright. As you said, I did not know her well." He took a deep breath.

"I killed her."

"Oh."

"I intruded on her territory. She attacked, I won. But she was a very skilled warrior."

"I see." Ciri had cast her eyes downwards. "Did you ever… well, lose a fight?"

He raised his head. Something in his eyes had changed. He seemed suspicious somehow as he eyed her. She knew this gaze. He was contemplating what to tell her. What he could say.

"Yes." He finally answered. "More times than I care to count. But not one of my enemies is alive anymore."

"What do you mean?"

He turned fully towards her, looking directly into her eyes.

"Here is what sets me apart from a soldier, or a witcher, or you." Ciri felt slightly colder as he spoke.

"You can murder a Hunter. You can slice his throat, hack off his limbs, tear out his heart, but a Hunter of the dream, that one will always come back and never, never stop, until his prey is dead and cold."

She thought that the birds and the critters, they had just now stopped moving and calling. The wind must have stopped and the fire must have picked up in heat. She realised that she looked not just at a man, but at a strange creature, such as she had never seen before.

His expression softened again.

"But this shall not concern you. I consider us friends. You should sleep now. I will stand guard for a while."

And though she was not sure what to think, she slept dreamlessly through until morning.

Yo. That has taken a while. Reason for that is that I am a lazy man of titanic proportions, but also because I wanted to write at least a chapter of Division fanfic, which I have released a few days earlier. But this her and The Deep are still going. Though maybe slowly.

Have fun. Next chapter the Hunter might find something to kill. Again.


	4. Dreams

**Heey. It's back. It has taken a long time, what with work and all the stuff around this corona-situation. But I'm still writing.** **This chapter, I want to warn you, it is clunky and it may not be too exciting.** **The predominant reason why my stories have no proper structure is that I write this to distract myself, for fun. I don't really plan this out too much. I'm happy though that others enjoy to read this.**

**Yeah, here you go.**

"So…" Ciri started as she dismounted her mare. The Hunter had already pulled his bag from the saddle and found a sizeable rock to sit on.

"Novigrad then. Anyone in particular you're looking for?"

The man watched her get footing and take off her own luggage. He cocked his head to the side slightly, obviously pondering something before deciding to answer.

"The sorcerer in Rhinzweig, suggested visiting a colleague of his. Her name is-"

"Yennefer?" She asked, immediately biting her tongue. Yennefer was probably somewhat undercover in Novigrad. The last time they had been there, the church had been burning mages at the stakes.

He only raised a puzzled eyebrow. "The same, possibly. He said she might have some interest in employing me."

He had been nothing but courteous thus far, honest too, as far as she could judge. Could she tell him more about Yennefer? Not telling him, bore the risk of angering him when he found her somehow else. And he would find her, she was sure. It was obvious by now that his title as Hunter was not just for show, but indicated a capable tracker.

"Are you two acquainted?" He asked.

"Yes." She said, truthfully. She would keep an eye on him, surely and Yennefer was wary of new people anyway. "She is a close friend of mine. She was responsible for a lot of my upbringing."

"Ah." He smiled. "What a coincidence. Maybe the wizard Ludd knew you would seek her out." He had sat down and was now directing his attention at a strip of smoked pork. Ciri had never seen someone who had looked out of practice while eating with their hands. He seemed highly unsure where and how to bite and that he needed to chew the tough meat a few more times. He almost choked and she could only narrowly stifle a laugh.

"Careful." She said, grinning. "You need to chew it properly."

He coughed and nodded. "Not used to it."

"Smoke dried stuff?"

"Eating."

She stared at him. He did not joke. He was serious.

"What do you mean? Surely you ate where you are from."

He looked back at her and finally swallowed. "Very rarely. It wasn't necessary. I'm not even sure it is now, but since I arrived here, I get tired too, so I would guess."

"Wait, wait, wait." She held her hands up. "You want to tell me, that you haven't eaten in that city, fo so long no less that you forgot how to chew?"

"Well… it has taken some getting used to, but yes, it appears so."

"How long?"

"I don't rightly know." He said, pulling his mask up to his nose, his eyes cast at the ground. "Time was convoluted and I couldn't trust my senses most of the time. It could have been a single night, it could have been years. It might have all been in my head, though I doubt it now more than ever."

"Like a nightmare?" She sat down next to him, her own meal all but forgotten.

"It feels like it now. But I remember to have been dying sick before. As I recall, it was the only reason I ventured to that accursed place in the first place. For treatment."

"Well, if that has been no trick of your mind, it has worked, hasn't it?"

He chuckled darkly. "It was a trade, rather than a gift. But I have gained a whole life to live, yes."

She was silent for a while, thinking. If his existing memory and had indeed only been a nightmare, possibly induced by whatever remedy had been applied to him, as well as his lack of knowledge of his own identity, it would mean that he was only an ordinary man. She already knew he was not. He was at least capable of jumping planes, similar to some of her own power and he could tear into armour like wet paper. He seemed honest enough though and his story was not the first she'd heard and found hard to believe, only to be proven wrong in the end. So he would receive the benefit of the doubt.

"It was surely not only a city at war, if you not needed to sustain yourself."

"Hmm." He nodded. "It was not a war anymore, the fighting was over and humanity had lost. But it was wrong in uncountable ways more. The night was never-ending and you were never alone, only safe in a handful of spots."

He looked at her, only his eyes peeking out from below his tricorn. The shadow that cast over his face seemed to avoid them, as if the grey and white was shining of its own.

"I don't particularly miss it, Ciri."

She was at a loss for words for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure. "I am glad then, that this-" She gestured towards their environment. "-is an improvement."

He looked back down and nodded. For minutes, it was silent, only the sound of the wind rushing through the leaves. Where before, it had been comfortable, now it seemed awkward to Ciri. It was unknowable for her if she might've pried to hard and made him dig too deep. Then again, he was not too much of an entertainer. Practical might fit as description, as he did not dislike silence, but could speak when needed.

"Should I know anything when we get to Oxenfurt?" He asked after a few minutes. She thought he might be changing the subject, but even though she had a feeling that this Yharnam was an unpopular subject for him, there was no malicious tone in his voice.

"Well, the war is not over long. Oxenfurt is a border city and they have suffered a lot of shortages. They are recuperating fast, but there's still a lot of unsavoury types in the city."

He chuckled. "That won't be too much of a problem. I suppose there is still plenty of lawful folk."

"The overwhelming majority of course. But people tend to feel uncomfortable. Especially after dark, when only beggars, thieves and whores seem to be out."

"Well-" He stood up, apparently satisfied with his small meal. "I have nothing against beggars and courtesans. But I will keep a keen eye on my belongings then. I don't own anything else after all."

They resumed their trek shortly after, only occasionally chatting about the scenery or at one time, a bird that seemed to interest the Hunter intensely. It was a simple crow that he had found so intriguing, but he was quick to explain that he had never seen such a small crow before. Where he was from, similar birds were apparently twice the size and prone to playing tricks on anyone.

Another time, he had spent some effort on investigating a set of wolf tracks, mentioning how he had never seen such in the wild, before adding that he had met with a plethora of lycantropes, which apparently had not taken kindly to his presence at all. The fact that he was here today, said everything she needed to know about the wolfmen's fates.

When they reached the outskirts of Oxenfurt, it was dark again. Ciri slowed her horse to a trot to not alarm the gatekeepers, who only barely nodded towards them, noted their arrival in a large tome and left them to pass through.

The city was not large, not by his standards at least. Yharnam had seemed as if it stretched towards the horizon, even if it was not remotely that expansive, but the twisting walkways, the entwined buildings and the gigantic towers, spires and cathedrals made it look like a whole world on it's own.

Oxenfurt was surrounded by a humble city wall, with few sentries. The inside was dominated by one to three storied buildings, made from brick or timber framed. As they passed through a second street, the shops to their sides were just closing for the night. Ciri apparently knew her way through the place and did not object as the Hunter expressed his interest to browse through the inventory of one particular peddler, who had paused in his activity for the potential customers.

Apparently the man was a smith of some kind, producing interesting contraptions of metal and wood that helped with heavy activities. One item he called an "ascender", which could be stuffed under a heavy object and would raise said object upwards if one operated the lever. Another machine appeared to be a counting aid which numbered the amount of times one pressed a button. Ciri did not see much use in these articles, but understood the sellers reasoning that they were highly specialized tools and might not be of use to everyone.

Eventually, the Hunter picks up a piece of metal, a part of some larger machine. It looks like a jagged cog, with a steel finger that locked in between the teeth. He looks the vendor in the eye.

"This is precision work."

"It sure is and I proud myself on it." The peddler answers, his chest puffed out. His voice is strong and friendly, less cold than the Hunter's, but also less powerful. The Hunter put the part back down.

"Are you a traveller? Or are you stationery in Oxenfurt?"

"I'll be here for as long as the people buy my works or give contracts. Business is going quite well, so I'll guess I'll be here for a long time."

The Hunter snapped his fingers and looked down again at the wares. "Excellent. I will definitely return with a commission for you. I do hope to find you here then, but as of now, I don't know when this'll be."

"If destiny wills it, we will meet, so I can produce you some custom nails." The vendor laughed heartily and slapped the Hunter's shoulder. He looked a bit confused at the gentle attack, but smiled back. They both said their goodbyes after the Hunter had purchased a small cube, made of even smaller cubes, interlinked with one another to play with. He did not bother to get back onto the horse, as Ciri only gestured forward where a corner tavern was emitting it's dim light through the windows.

He learned the going rate for a middle class room here, as Ciri had a loud, but playful discussion with the owner over the price for a night's stay. He would need to be attentive, before every single person he tried to do business with, would rip him off. While standing with her and the owner, he was unable to miss the indecent looks that some of the male patrons threw Ciri's way, before they noticed the Hunter's gaze linger on them and swiftly returned their attention back to their friends, meals or cups. The ashen haired girl had a strange, kind of downtrodden look on her face as he turned towards her again.

"There is only one room left." She said, before adding. "Im tired."

He nodded, seeing no problem with sharing a room. Surely there was enough space for both of them. They couldn't be this small, otherwise the inn would surely have more than one open. The owner only laughed, muttering something about being either clueless or truly devious, but Ciri seemed relieved.

She explained that she had shared a spot with boars and snakes before and didn't mind sleeping in the same room as him. She only didn't want to go out anymore, looking for another place to stay.

He could sympathize with that. Surely the long trip had taken a toll on her. They had taken only few breaks and made very good time, but quick travel takes a toll. Had he noticed her fatigue, he would've offered to take the reigns, but even though he only knew her a few days, he had already learned that she was extraordinarily tough. More than he ever thought he could be and probably never would have, had he not assimilated with the ancient blood that now streamed through his veins. The bestial scourge in a human body, contained and leashed, never to awaken for as long as he lived.

He didn't talk as they made their way up. They didn't speak as they reached the room and readied themselves for the night. He was content with ridding himself of his gloves, greaves and coat, sitting down in a rocking chair by the closed curtains. Ciri would sleep in the bed. She had offered him the other side, but he insisted that he was alright. Still she was going to test him. She also didn't like the feeling of her travelling clothes on her skin, so she undressed, in a corner, sure, but still well in sight, all while watching him in the chair.

He did not look, did not move. In fact, hadn't she already seen him this motionless, she would have feared he had died there. He was facing a gap in the curtains, his hands on his knees and his hat pulled down into his face. She didn't know if she could sleep like that, though she hoped so as she slid under the covers. The bed was large, unfamiliar even, as three people could easily lie here and not touch each other.

Only a second after she had drawn the covers over her chest, he turned to look at her, reaching for the single candle that shone it's light into the room.

"Leave it burning for a while longer." Ciri said and turned to her side, to better look at him. His shadow danced across the wooden wall, forming and deforming, shortening and elongating. Strangely, the rough cotton shirt he had received in replacement for the fine garment he had arrived in, seemed to fit him perfectly. Someone else would have looked like they were wearing a potato sack, but somehow he filled it out. His eyes were small, but never had she seen him show any exertion or tiredness. They simply seemed old, older than his body.

"Do you miss someone? Where you're from? If you don't miss the place itself, maybe…"

She trailed off. Where did that question come from?

"No." He answered after a short while, as if he was not sure of the answer himself. "I probably would if I remembered anyone from before, but I don't and I kept my distance to anyone I met during the hunt."

His face did not betray any change. No more emotions, no less. Surely he was in excellent physical condition, but his look was one of an ancient soldier, scarred and exhausted by years of battle, carrying the experience and guilt of a whole lifetime inside.

"That sounds lonely." She said. She needed to keep this conversation going for a while longer, needed it to conclude on a lighter note than this. "I find loneliness hard to endure. I can manage pain or stress well enough, but I don't want to feel lonely."

He nodded. "Most of the time, if I had time, I felt that too. Being alone is fine, shows our true colours, but loneliness is a destroyer. It kills."

The ever so slight crackle of the candle's wick was loud in this space. Ciri met the Hunter's eyes, but he was staring through her, nowhere, thinking or maybe just lamenting to himself.

"I am grateful for your company." He said, softly, no longer unfocused, but taking in the room, the light, shadow, the fire and the woman across from him. He averted his gaze quickly though, as the sheets had dropped slightly, exposing her shoulders and collarbone. She noticed, but didn't think much of it, it was reassuring however that he showed restraint, though she hadn't expected anything different. The chair did look uncomfortable though and the bed had enough space for both of them and a generous area in between. He still shook his head as she offered him to lie down too. He said he was fine with sitting, though he shifted a few times as they spoke until he extinguished the candle and both of them closed their eyes for the night.

Ciri awoke into a state of only half consciousness in the middle of the night. She cracked open one eye and tried to see in the darkness, but it was pitch black. She felt the opposite side of the mattress depress and knew that he had changed his mind. There was only the slightest rustle of cloth before there was perfect silence again. It seemed he did not notice her waking and after about fifteen minutes, she started to hear his breath. Slow and steady, almost frighteningly calm. She smiled. He did his best to hide his insecurities, but he was not a good enough actor for this to work. When she had paid for the room, he seemed uneasy. The way he followed her around and scanned everyone with suspicion, the way he held his weapon, rarely just on his belt, most of the time, the scabbard in his left hand, so the right could draw and strike at a moment's notice.

She doubted he had slept yesterday. He had kept watch, but did not wake her up to relieve him, instead he was awake when she opened her eyes in the morning. He must be tired, everyone would.

And now, he allowed himself to rest. He had decided himself that it was time and, and that made her smile, that he could lie down beside her and close his eyes.

It felt right to have brought him with her.

* * *

He walked with his eyes wide, not because of fear or shock, but to take in as much light as possible in the bleak dusk of this night. Every step, was accompanied with the wet sloshing of the blood that covered the ground up to his ankles. He did not try to walk silently, nor did he stick to the darker edges of the streets. He wanted them to know that he was coming. He wanted them to know his visage, the sound of the nails in his soles and he wanted them to come at him, try and take him down into the dark, end this night for him.

Yet he knew that he could not, he would not go gently into the horrid night. The dark tried it's claim on him without pause, but he was unable to surrender himself. His legs would not stop carrying his body, his arms would not tire of his blades, his mind would not finish to assess, reassess and classify. Threat after threat was recognized, analysed and dealt with accordingly.

He had decided that his remorse was wasted on them. Death was mercy compared to existence in the thrall of the blood, but he did feel the sting of sadness when he traversed the empty and ravaged homes. Those who were spared by the blood's call had locked themselves inside, but sooner or later something would get inside or drive them out. Food would run out, doors broken down, minds were tested. Faced with the chaos in their home, many people lost their will and more than once, he had wandered through a desolate living room where a couple still sat on their couch, their bodies left to decay in an eternal embrace, some with child some without.

He did not look at them for long. He had work to do and for as long as it was needed, he would move, ever deeper into this night, fighting it until it was dead.

* * *

When he awoke the following day, he was blinded by the sun from outside. The curtains had been pushed aside slightly and a beam of light pierced through the room, right into his face. He sat up, blinking his eyes, waiting for his pupils to shut further until they were nothing more than needleheads.

"Hey." He looked to his side, almost forgotten about the woman he shared the room with. Ciri's face was half buried in her pillow, her ashen hair askew, a pair of soft locks scattered over her nose.

"Good morning."

He hadn't noticed, but they were much closer on the bed as they were last night. He had not moved, but she must have wandered towards the middle in her sleep. Her foot was draped over his shin, absentmindedly rubbing up and down. He should turn and swing out of the covers, not mention it and not acknowledge her blunder. Instead, he was hesitating, savoring the innocent contact and exploring the sensation. He could not remember when he had felt a gentle touch. The closest might have been the plain doll and maybe, remotely, Maria's embrace, but only just before she'd plunge her Rakuyo through his chest.

Ciri's eyes widened slightly as she noticed what her foot was doing. She quickly pulled it back and pulled her sheets up to her nose in embarrassment. Yesterday she might've been in a playful mood, but now she was still sleepy and not ready for such things. He smiled at nothing and swung his legs out to sit on the side of the bed. He was still wearing his shirt and pants, so he only pulled his boots to him and started to dress for the day.

She waited for him to finish and in a wordless agreement, he slipped into his coat and exited the room so she could dress herself.

Ciri herself could not repress a small grin when she was alone. What had gotten to her yesterday? Sleeping next to a stranger with only her knickers on, bare her skin, even though beneath the covers? What must he be thinking?

Though she suspected that he did not think much of it, she still felt the heat rise into her cheeks as she crossed her arms under her breasts to warm her torso up. She turned to the side again and noticed a slight scent of mint and ocean water that had accompanied him yesterday too. It was a strange mix, but she decided that she liked it. She would try to keep his friendship. She could already imagine him and Geralt sitting apart from each other in perpetual silence, only interrupted by a short phrase or word, followed by a snort or grumbling of acknowledgment as both of them tended to their weapons. They could be good buddies, she was certain.

Now to get rid of that stupid smile of hers.

Their way from Oxenfurt to Novigrad would only be a cat's jump compared to their ride from Rhinzweig. She was happy to be able to see Yennefer soon, though she was a bit anxious how she would react to the nameless hunter. Yennefer had a way to turn many people around and make them angry, her personality did not require for others to like her. Yet she had had part in raising Ciri and as such, she was the closest she had to a mother. Yen was also one of her closest friends, together with Triss and Dandelion of course. Geralt had a special place for her, not only as a friend, but as a mentor, saviour and father to her. She had long stopped idolizing him after she had recognized it as foolish and immature, but much of him had rubbed off on her and even more he had taught her. She did not wear the cat-school-medallion for show after all.

"So…" He said from behind her on the saddle. "You are a princess then."

She snorted. "Barely. I am Ciri now."

"Lucky, that you managed an escape from such a fate. I would guess being a puppet for an occupational force would not have been for you."

"How'd you get that idea?" She smiled grimly, forward, so he couldn't see it.

"And this Geralt, is your father, essentially."

"Not my biological father. He… essentially raised me."

"Which makes him your father I'd say." He insisted. Again, Ciri was acutely aware of his hands on her hip and it annoyed her. This was the first time she could remember being so uncertain about a man, about anything. She always kind of knew what she wanted. In her past, she had felt a certain natural attraction to certain people, people she wanted to be with, which was something she did not feel with the Hunter. She did not want him, she felt pretty sure about that, yet her subconscious reacted in a manner which was alien to her.

"And Yennefer von Vengerberg?"

"A close friend, though she also raised me for quite some time."

"Good to keep ties with such." He answered. "To keep a shoulder to lean on."

It was not entirely sexual. To be more precise, it was most probably not sexual, but confusingly similar, yet more innocent. She didn't want him, but having him close was good. The mistrust she had felt when she first heard part of his strange story and when she witnessed his potential for violence was simply gone, dust in the wind and instead she felt something like assurance. Possibly safety. Trust, which she could not really explain, not for the short time she knew him and not in this intensity. It was strange and it frightened her a little bit, as she remembered Vesemir's lessons and what she had read about being enthralled by a vampire or a succubus, or a sorceress or sorcerer for that matter.

Then again, she had learned how to resist such efforts and she would keep an eye open if something like this became apparent. She would not break her head over this, yet it allowed her another, more disconcerting train of thought.

"I am sorry that you had to go so long without a friendly face." She said, though she was unsure where that had come from.

"It is fine."

What if, and she tried to emphasize the 'if', what if the man she knew as Hunter, was not entirely a man, but something else?

He was impressed. Novigrad did not just call itself a city, but was truly one. He could only see a small part over the high walls that stretched wide to either side and through the narrow, but high gate that they were closing in on, but what he saw was a sight for itself. Several thousand people must live here, judging from the expansive outer walls, with strong battlements and towers, guards keeping an eye on the people below and the horizon. He saw a few spires, possibly church-, or living towers. He had seen such high built houses once, though he did not remember where and he recalled being amazed by how tall a stone structure could be built.

They reached the gate, where a pair of bored guardsmen were keeping an eye on the people entering and leaving. He noticed that within the settlement outside the walls, there were many more deviants that inside. Elves, dwarves and halflings went after their daily motions, with humans only rarely interspersed in the crowds. Yet, humans left and entered the city in droves. On foot, by cart or on horseback.

He leaned forward so that Ciri would hear him.

"There seem to be many more of other kin outside than inside. Is there a reason for such a segregation?"

She looked back at him. Her eyes betrayed a modest sadness.

"The previous… well administration, did not mean well for them. There has always been mistrust between the people, especially over race, but the last few years have had pogroms and witch-hunts, literally. A lot of good men and women burned on the stakes."

He scowled. "Disgraceful."

"It has become better. One ruler in particular has advocated strongly for this… slaughter, but he has been replaced. Luckily by someone more considerate and less... insane."

"But they still dwell outside, even though they would be allowed in?"

"Yes, sure." She gestured towards a collection of sturdy looking huts. "Their homes are here. They can't really carry it inside, can they?"

She giggled at her own little joke.

"I suppose so." He said, just as they passed through the gate and he was greeted by narrow streets and looming buildings. It was already afternoon and people were beginning to light wicks, torches and fire baskets to make up for the stark shadows in the streets.

He was surprised by the cleanliness of the place. Most city streets he remembered were dirt and filled with all kinds of junk, but not here. Storeowners made sure their storefront was clear, housekeepers sweeped the stairs of their buildings and nearly everyone appeared to be free of care or sorrow, simply following their daily lives.

Strange. How a city could exist and not be dark, or miserable. He supposed that Novigrad had it's seedier areas, but for now, it seemed like a place of peaceful coexistence. To think that the three young women in front of the tailors store would stand and cheer for a body burning on the pyre, or that the elderly gentleman sitting on his chair, watching the crowd pass by would betray someone to a hunting mob. The Hunter's stomach churned at these thoughts and thought the polite looking man in his chair had done nothing to earn his ire, he felt anger bubbling up within him.

He breathed. Slowly and deeply, banishing the fire and blood from his mind until he found back to his center. No amount of pain was worth his anger. He was a professional after all. He would not ever again let the dark tendrils of hate ensnare him again. Suddenly the elderly gentleman in his chair was just that again, an elderly gentleman in his chair.

"Are you feeling well?" He heard Ciri asking. He assured her that all was fine and that he had only slowly drifted off.

"We are almost there. But we need to walk from here. There is a stable here that I know. I will leave her here."

She pointed at a large wooden building, noises of hooves and the smell of horses coming from inside. They dismounted and he stayed outside to watch the saddle and their belongings, while Ciri lead her mare inside to speak with the owner she knew and pay for her horse to be accommodated. Outside the street was nearly bustling with people. It was not crowded, but still full. Yet he noticed how most people were keeping their distance, walking around rather than past him. Some threw a vary glance his way, but he tried to ignore it. His dark attire and his height made him stand out quite a bit, so he did not think bad of them for being cautious.

They passed the market just adjacent to the stables towards a tall, narrow building on the other side of the plaza. He had to try to keep away from the interesting stands, filled with curious wares, so they would not waste time until nightfall for a five minute walk, but he managed and shortly after he found himself over looking over Ciri's shoulder at an ancient woman, who had opened the door for them. She too eyed him with suspicion, but her gaze softened somewhat when he expressed his gratitude for letting him in. Ciri, apparently, was a known guest in the house.

The building was almost like a tower, with a rather tight staircase that led up towards and past the several floors. Small windows towards the plaza flooded sections of the path in light, while others were dark with shadow.

After a bit of climbing, they reached the top floor. The door up here seemed much sturdier and better fitted into the frame and wall than the ones below and there was a small stand next to it, upon which a slender nightlight rested, it's candle almost spent. Ciri knocked and they waited.

The woman who opened the door was tall and strikingly beautiful. She had long, flowing, raben hair that framed her youthful face and a figure for which many women would do unspeakable things. She wore pants, a fine blouse and a vest above it, all topped by a velvet cloak that kept her warm supposedly. All in black and white and the Hunter could not ignore the pleasant fragrance of lilac and gooseberry.

Ciri and the woman immediately embraced like close friends, just like Ciri had described. Though when the woman's eyes fell on him, who had kept a modest distance, she quickly regained the posture of a noble woman, with an elegance and authority that betrayed an age much greater than what her body would make one believe.

"Yennefer of Vengerberg." Ciri introduced with a smile and he bowed.

"It is particularly rude to withhold your name when being introduced as a guest." Yennefer said, looking at him with eyes that were almost as penetrating as his own.

"I do apologize, mylady-" he started, but was interrupted by Ciri.

"He doesn't know." She said. "We met in Rhinzweig during the storm. He just appeared after. I know, I know…"

He noticed the look that Yennefer gave her friend. It was really quite possible that Ciri had been in trouble for trying to help a stranger before.

"But he has done nothing but help since I met him. I believe he deserves my trust and yours."

"Trust is earned my dear." The woman answered, before her gaze rested on him again.

"But it would be rude to keep you both outside for this long. We will continue this conversation inside."

She closed the door behind them and walked past them towards a lounging arrangement on the left side of her room.

The Hunter removed his hat and coat and followed after Ciri, who sat down immediately next to Yennefer and allowed herself to take one of the glasses from a plate and pour water from a pitcher.

"Sit. You're making me nervous." Yennefer said and he complied, sitting down on the chair across from her, his hat on his one knee and his folded coat on the other.

"Now, amnesia is an inconvenient condition." She started, gazing into his eyes. Hers were a deep blue, to strong to be natural. Her entire body was this way.

"But let's try at least. Might you share where you come from, mister?"

He straightened his back and looked back at her. "I am a Hunter. As to where I come from,-" He paused. "It might be hard to believe."

* * *

It was almost dark when he finished. He had spoken about everything he felt comfortable and what he deemed necessary to explain. The plague, the city, the fighting. He did withhold his struggle with the cosmic forces and his battle through the dreams, instead painting a picture of a land at war, disease ridden and a failed state. At first she had interjected here and there, asking questions and lamenting, but as he went on, Yennefer fell silent, her strong posture fading and being replaced by a more guarded demeanour. When he retold the events of the last few days, she quickly lost interest, but he did expect this. She would naturally be more interested of his arrival here, than in the mundane happenings of her own realm.

"Yes, yes." She nodded as he had finished. "It is not entirely unheard. In fact, you must know of the conjunction of the spheres, yes?"

He nodded.

"There are many theories as to how such an event happened and how large the chances are of it happening again. Mathematically, it is possible, realistically, almost out of the question."

Again he nodded. He had been briefly told about the conjunction when he stayed in Rhinzweig and it made some sense. Meanwhile she had risen from her chair and was pacing slowly in front of him.

"But since we still do not really understand the laws of such an event, what causes it and how it comes to be, everything we know, is simply speculative. But it has happened."

"I concur." He answered. "Though I must confess that leaving that accursed city behind is a blessing for me."

"So you plan to just… accept it?" She asked, apparently surprised.

"I didn't at first." He answered, leaning back a bit to look up at her. "But I enjoyed peace in the last few days. Something I feared was lost for me forever."

She stared. Critically, for a long time, before speaking up again.

"This can be discussed later." She decided, sitting back down in her chair.

"Your disposition here is not something we will solve this evening. What we can work on, is your mental impairment."

"How generous of you, mylady."

She smiled. "I won't pretend to do this from the goodness of my heart. I am a scientist after all."

Just now, Yennefer noticed his narrowed eyes, though he seemed relaxed otherwise.

"Even with magic, I can not see in your mind." She added. She would not attempt it, even if she could. She had a feeling she would not like what she would find. "But there are a few exercises we can attempt, as well as a few herbal remedies that can be tried."

"I see." He leaned back slightly and looked around the room for a while. "I haven't considered drugs yet, but I have heard that certain psychostimulants can have a supporting effect."

"Hmm." She nodded. "Though the mind has to restore your memories from itself. We can only hope to accelerate and bolster the process."

"And what are you gaining from this?"

She paused for a moment, contemplating. Finally she said:"Experience. Knowledge. Therapies have to be tested, also I am interested in what you have been through. Ludd, as much as he is an annoyance, was certainly right to send you here. And as I have currently some time on my hands… but then again, he probably only sent you to me to irritate me."

"Joke's on him then I guess." He said.

"We will see. For now, we can start tonight. I should have some essences ready. You may experience some rather… uncomfortable dreams though." She leaned in, looking deeper into his eyes.

"I'm used to it." He answered.

He had not expected to consume the supporting ingredients like a common addict. He sat on the edge of a guest bed, spoon in one hand, held over the flame of a candle and a syringe on the nightstand to his right. Yennefer and Ciri stood at the door, watching him.

"You seem to know what you're doing." Yennefer had teased, to which she and Ciri had at least expected some annoyance from the man. But he didn't seem to mind the jab. He had been quick to accept the proposal of using narcotics for their attempted recovery, so it must seem like he had been an addict at least formerly. He was not too adverse to the effects of such chemicals though, even if just in controlled doses. He had used much more unsavoury substances back then, so a bit of flora sent through a mortar wouldn't be so bad. Though he could make out some mineral in the mixture as well, it would liquify, soak the herbs on the spoon around it and then, filtered, be administered directly into the bloodstream.

He waited for the concoction to mix sufficiently before pouring it through a sieve into the glass body of the syringe. Tightening the belt around his biceps he set the needle to his arm and pressed the plunger.

It burned in his arm, even with the belt restricting his blood flow. When he released it and the mixture shot into his body, he shuddered. It was truly uncomfortable, but the sensation quickly vanished, leaving him with a strange, weightlessness that made him slightly nauseous.

"How are you feeling?" Yennefer asked from far away.

He did not speak, but raised a thumb. His vision was unsteady and blurry, his lips and tongue numb. He did not feel to confident in his ability to sleep.

"I don't like this." Ciri could be heard like speaking through a woollen blanket.

"He should be fine. Most others would have fallen asleep already. He is surprisingly steadfast."

"Not… for long." He pressed through sticky teeth. His eyelids were becoming heavy and a warm sensation enveloped his body.

"And lucid. Either he has indeed done fisstech before, or his body is especially resilient."

"Fiss...tech?" He slurred.

"Yennefer!" Ciri seemed angry, but he couldn't be sure.

The sorceress said something, but he didn't understand it. He decided that his struggle was pointless and hindering.

So he surrendered. And drifted away.

* * *

He was awake.

He was on top of a flat roof, the sharp spires of Yharnam sticking up into the red sky around him.

"Good Hunter." Someone said, but he ignored it. The piercing rifle was perched against the wrought iron railing of the roof, his finger resting just above the trigger.

Pointless, he thought. He could clean the entire city and not be a step further. As soon as he would go into the Hunter's Dream, everything would come back. Nothing stayed dead in this hell.

"Good Hunter."

It was a woman and he knew her voice, but she shouldn't call him that. She knew him didn't she? Why didn't she say his name?

He turned around, blinking at the sudden sunlight. The cherry trees to either side were barren and naked. It was cold. His coat didn't warm him here.

"Father." He said. To no one in particular, but a figure rose from a chair in front of him. The man was old, but his features were still strong. Ice blue eyes stared back at him.

"Where is your brother, boy?" He asked and the Hunter felt an inexplicable dread to answer. He swallowed hard, scrambling for words.

"Boy!" The voice boomed at him.

"In France, father. He won't return."

Silence. Deafening and oppressive.

"Father, I am so sorry."

Silence.

"I was not there. I should have been…"

"Don't." The voice answered. It was faint now, weak, old.

"Father…"

"Don't." The frail voice repeated. "My son has died in france. I have no son."

Blood spilled through his fingers as he fastened his grip on the bayonet. He yelled as he pushed the frenchman away, off of his blade, his victim's eyes wide in horror.

Maybe… maybe Yharnam has not changed him at all. Maybe he had been like this all along.

"Johannes." The voice was of a woman, one he knew very well.

"Father is chasing me out, mother." He said, fear in his heart. Fear that he did not understand. He was past fear for his own sake. He had faced horrors from beyond his world and had left them gutted in his wake. He was a killer of man and beast alike.

It was not his fear, but the fear of the man he had been. Johannes from a good house, adopted and forsaken after his brother had been taken by war. This was not him, not anymore. But a name was better than nothing.

In the adjacent room, Yennefer and Ciri sat comfortably, enjoying a good Beauclair white. They had checked on the Hunter once before and when Yennefer was convinced that it was safe to leave him, they had decided to spend some time talking before bed.

"Well, you have always been an adventurous type." Yennefer said. She had repressed her urge to lecture Ciri about the dangers of trusting strangers. She was an adult now and she was a fierce adversary if the situation called for it. She would look after herself.

"Maybe. But he has also not given me a reason to be suspicious. Cautious maybe, but I still think it was right to bring him here."

"Quite." Yennefer answered. "Though if he needed work, I don't know how far I can help. My endeavours are quite technical in nature. He could find work at the harbour surely."

"He wouldn't mind, I'm sure. But he doesn't seem dull. Maybe you will have use for him. He would be grateful for a place to start, I'm sure."

Yennefer nodded, thinking. Maybe Triss had more immediate use for a field-agent. Ciri already explained his strength in combat and his abilities as a tracker. There was always a need for ingredients that were rare or dangerous to obtain. If he truly was a Hunter, he could be valuable.

"We will see. I might speak to Triss later over the megascope. You're welcome to join and say hello."

"Uh, yes, I'd like that." The younger woman said happily. It had been a long time since she heard of her friend Triss Merigold. The mage had ventured back over the sea after they had faced the wild hunt and banished the immediate threat.

Yennefer smiled, warmly. An uncommon sight with her, but not unheard of when she was in the presence of Ciri or Geralt, the few exceptions in her life.

Both kept on bantering for a while, which included more than one suggestive comments from the sorceress, which deepened the blush on Ciri's face more than it was by the alcohol. It was friendly, just what Ciri had anticipated and needed after being on the road, alone for such a long time. She valued the sorceress for everything she had done for her, as well as the ability to confide in her. And even though she had tested Yennefer's trust in her judgement by bringing the Hunter here, something that the dark haired woman did not miss to point out, her response was warm and understanding. That the sorceress had her own ideas in how to make use of her predicament, was fairly obvious, but Ciri was sure that even if she would utilize the Hunter, she would be respectful towards her and her friendship with the man.

Also, both did not want to explore the depths of the man's vengeance.

They bid each other goodnight and retreated into their respective quarters for the night. Tomorrow had the potential to become at least mildly interesting.

* * *

He cringed at the creaking of the floorboards beneath his feet. His hand closed tighter around the handle of his pistol, the leather protesting over his knuckles, his finger on the trigger. A noise from the next room made him stop, bring up the weapon at the ready and focus on the doorway in front of him.

It was a strange weapon, this pistol. A new invention that he found in the house of one late Dr. Weston, a man who most certainly dabbled mostly in the inception of new and innovative arms. This firearm was especially easy to modify, as it appeared to be fashioned from stamped rather than milled metal. It lacked most of the wooden parts, safe for the grip and, most importantly, featured an internal magazine that held twenty rounds instead of only a single one.

It clicked as he cocked the hammer, ready to dispense quicksilver death. He peered over the sights of his gun as he rounded the corner. As more and more of the dark room revealed itself to him, his anticipation grew, the tip of his finger became lighter, his senses burned. The pitch black of the room lightened before his eyes as his pupils widened, taking in the image of a desolate space. Rubble and debris littered the cavern.

He switched the gun to his off hand and unhooked the massive saw from his hip. A flick of his wrist actuated the mechanism and the saw cleaver flung open, sparks dancing shortly through the dark.

There was a whimper, a sob. Someone was crying in the dark. A girl.

He repressed the urge to call out and instead walked forward, towards. Something passed him on his left and he raised his gun, but did not fire, regretful to not have brought a shotgun in such confined spaces. Something on his right and he brought the cleaver up to a guard against a strike that never came. Whatever it was that dwelled in here it either did not wish to attack him or it toyed with him. He would just have to ask.

His voice echoed in the dark cave, his heightened senses estimating the space's size automatically by the reverberations alone. Slowly, his eyesight grew more accustomed to the lack of light and he saw.

Piles. He stopped in his tread to take another look, but he had seen right. Even in the twilight of the moonless cavern, it was unmistakable.

He had not expected so many bodies.

In front of him, maybe twenty paces ahead, someone kneeled on the floor. A small silhouette, bent over, shivering with each sobbing cry. Again, he wanted to speak up, but decided against it. He needed to be closer in order to be able to retaliate if this turned out to be a trap.

Then again, this was a narcotics induced dream, right? How foolish of him to fear the contents of his own mind.

It took him five steps to realize the changes. The kneeling body in front of him was growing. Ashen hair fell over a slender neck and the figure took on exceedingly feminine forms. Ten steps. He noticed that the gown that the woman wore, grew with her body. He stopped five steps before reaching her. If need be, he could connect a strike and fall back within the blink of an eye.

The woman was now standing, long, flowing hair tied up in a neat ponytail behind her head, hands clasped at her front, out of sight, covered in a white, silken robe that seemed expensive to Johannes.

"Well."

His eyes widened as he recognized the voice. The accent was unmistakable.

"Has your curiosity gotten the better of you, Good Hunter?"

"Lady Maria?" He croaked, his voice strained suddenly again, as it had been for the longest time during his odyssey through Yharnam.

She turned around, meeting his gaze. Her eyes were pleading, seeking forgiveness for what she'd done, what cast her into the Hunter's Nightmare. Still, she looked warmly down upon the Hunter as she exceeded his height by a few inches still. Seeing her out of her hunter's garb, wearing a robe out of all things was strange to say the least. The fabric was loose and heavy, falling cleanly around her form and making her skin look like marble even more.

She still bore the scars. A scratch on her cheek, a cut on her chin, a line on her forehead towards her ear, but they did nothing to diminish her beauty.

How he'd loathed that he couldn't save her, Johannes thought. But then again, he had never really saved anyone, had he? Only prolonged the inevitable.

"You poor soul." She said. "A creature such as you, with so much gentleness, pushed to such lengths as to become a slaughtering beast himself."

He only looked, his jaw set and his eyes never leaving hers.

"It reminds me of myself a bit. I was never fond of the blood. But then, I am just as human as you. I might be wrong. Your mind, it is an interesting place. What you did in Europe, even before you joined into the madness of the Hunt, I was shocked."

"It was war." He said.

"It was. You see how futile human ambitions are by now, do you?"

"Yes. So is the attempt to change their nature. Violence will always be the common point of all mankind. Be it here, or anywhere else." He was acutely aware of the stacked corpses that littered the room behind him in piles. Victims of another beast. Remnants of the past.

"It does sadden me." She answered. "It is why you are still a man of arms, even though all what you have witnessed?"

He stared down at his hands, where he still gripped the gun and cleaver, knuckles white.

"I have cut down beings far outside our scale of comprehension. I can not rightly explain it."

"To whom? To me, hence yourself? That you will not bow? To prove a point?"

She raised her hands and put the on his shoulders.

"You are a truly frightening thing, Johannes. I should have seen it in the nightmare, but I guess I wasn't in my right mind at the time."

Only now he noticed that the barrel of his pistol had wandered upwards, pointing at her chest. He wanted no part in it, but it was him who put his finger on the trigger.

"I just couldn't stomach it." She said.

He pulled the trigger.

And woke up.

* * *

Ciri almost jumped when the Hunter's upper body jolted up from the bed like the arm of a catapult, almost throwing the sheets across half the room. His face was glistening from sweat in the morning sunlight and his chest was heaving from heavy breath. Yennefer was quickly beside him and put a hand to his shoulder, speaking to him in a calming voice, reassuring him that he was safe and that no harm could get to him now.

He just blankly stared forward.

Ciri sat down next to him. Her brow was furrowed in concern and she reached for one of his hands. It twitched, but he did not pull back. Instead his eyes locked onto hers, burrowing deep into her, like he had done before. It took her some effort to not avoid him and look away.

"Are you feeling alright?" She asked. Ciri scolded herself. She should have never let Yennefer go on with her reckless experiment.

"I am fine." He coughed. It seemed as if he had been choking on his own spit there for a moment.

"I am fine."

"Hunter. Do you remember anything?" Yennefer turned to Ciri. "It is important to ask directly after awakening, so the dreams don't slip away."

"My name." He mumbled. His teeth felt sticky and his jaw hurt. He must have been grinding his teeth again.

"Can you repeat that?" Yennefer asked. Apparently fisstech was one hell of a drug. He had taken narcotics before, he was after all a soldier and a hunter, but only few had left him so affected.

"My name." He pressed through his teeth.

"My name is Johannes."


	5. Cross

**Alright. A few points before the chapter. One of the comments mentioned that it's weird for the Hunter, Johannes, to be remembering France in his dream. Or by extension that he mentioned German culture in a previous chapter. That is true, though Ludwig, in his strange horse-head-form in the Old Hunters DLC, asks if his church hunters are the brave Spartans he hoped they'd be. As such, with my superficial intellect, I deduced that Yharnam is on earth, or at least a version of earth. It's shallow, I know, but I like it. I felt the need to explain that.**

**Anyway, here you go.**

Six days had passed.

A man was fleeing through Novigrad's dark corners. He dared not to move underground, for the drowners would find him, but he could also not stay.

"Jemma!?" He called out to his comrade.

"Yes." Came the laboured answer from behind him.

"Where are the others staying?"

"A house outside, not far. We can make it through the north gate."

"Where is Emer?"

Both men turned around and stopped. The narrow alley seemed to rise and tighten, becoming a dark valley that swallowed all light.

"Emer?" One of them called out. His hand fell to his hip where his axe was fastened to his belt in a loop. He received no answer.

"Emer!?" He yelled now, louder, but the alley stayed dead silent.

"Come, Aleksander." The man Jemma shook his shoulder. "The boss will know what to do."

"The boss doesn't know horseshit if it hit his face." The other man snarled. "If he did, he wouldn't have sent us against this monster. He should've just forget the madman and be done with it."

Both men sunk deeper into the wet shadows as a shriek rang through the night. The only light behind the buildings from the moon that hung menacingly low over the horizon, dipping the roofs in an eerie pale blue.

"Emer?" Aleksander all but whispered.

A male figure stumbled into view, only a black silhouette against the back of the alley. He held his midsection and his head was hanging low. Every step was tired.

Aleksander was about to take a step forward, but Jemma stopped him, urging him to move so they would escape. They needed to leave the city, hide somewhere where no one knew them. Down south maybe, in Nilfgaardian territory. They could cross the border undetected and settle again as honest men. What had the boss been thinking?

The figure turned towards them. In the weak twilight, they could just make out the man's face. It was Emer, a young man who had only been with them for a few months. He had a bad temper, but he was a good kid, Jemma thought.

His knees buckled and Emer fell, his arm slipped away and they could see the reflections of slick blood across his lower body. Something spilled out. The monster had gutted him.

"Gods dammit!" Aleksander growled and this time, Jemma could not hold him back. He ran forward, only to skid to a halt, a blink of an eye later as another silhouette stepped around the corner. Terror gripped both men, as they saw again, the beast that had brought them so much bloodshed this night.

Darkness seemed to seep from his form, his coat gently licking around his legs. His face was obscured by the blackness of night, only his hat, with the back ripped out, forming this strange, wolfish appearance, was distinguishable against the lighter background of the night. His hand gripped still the longsword like it was an extension of himself. He wielded the two handed weapon with practiced ease, a baleful confidence that, as they learned, spelled doom for even experienced fighters.

But Aleksander had stared down superior foes before and he had prevailed by his cunning intellect and flexibility. However this man, no, this thing, was different.

No mortal man was this fast, nor this strong, tearing down men and doors like paper. No mortal man could keep on fighting after the injuries that he had sustained, yet he stood here, his eyes, even though they couldn't see them, unblinking and fixated upon them, he could feel it.

The silhouette tilted his head and cast a pitiful look at the dying Emer, who was still on his knees and in an admirable effort to recollect his guts into his own body. Without any flourish or decorum, his right shot forward, spearing the poor boy through the back of the skull, the tip of the sword reflecting inside his mouth. He pulled back and the suffering Emer finally fell backwards, his face a mask of shock and wonder as he stared up into the star spangled sky.

"You…" Aleksander started again, drawing his own weapon. Emer had been a strain on his nerves but he was a good kid. A kind hearted soul, who only searched to belong. He did not know who deserved his anger right now, his superior or Emer's killer, but the latter was right here and-

Jemma's tugging on his sleeve pulled him back to reality. They needed to flee. None of them could best this beast in a one on one fight. Both took a step back and for a moment, it seemed as if the figure down the alley was dropping his shoulders in exasperation.

Then he started to run towards them.

Within a second, the shadowy figure propelled itself from a standing position into a full sprint. His shoulders were high and his head low, like a tiger. Aleksander thought to have seen a faint light in his eyes, cold and unfeeling.

"Run!" He yelled, uncaring now if the city guard heard them or not. Nothing they could do was worse than this demon. He turned around and ran as fast as he could, Jemma before him and breathing heavily. Like men possessed, they ran into the street, hookers and drunkards jumping aside to avoid being barrelled over by the two armed men. They turned right and now, with the street newly illuminated, he dared to look back again. The sight convinced him only again that they were being chased by a monster.

The man's coat was still slick with the blood of their comrades. Small droplets were flung away from his hat as he dashed after them, blade tucked behind his shoulder. But his eyes, they never left them. Like they were tied to them and Aleksander did not doubt that, should they split up, one eye would follow him and the other would follow Jemma.

He turned forward and narrowly dodged a large man, carrying a basket of some sort as the city gate came into view a short distance away and behind a literal crowd of people too. It seemed as if a band of musicians was drawing a lot of bodies here. Cover for him and his companion to vanish.

Jemma had apparently thought the same thing, as he nodded towards him and slipped off in between celebrating men and women. With a last look backwards, Aleksander checked where their hunter was, but did not see him anywhere, so he dropped his blue hat to the ground and melted into the crowd.

He found Jemma sitting on a rock, deep in the forest north of Novigrad. The younger mercenary was still shaking from their encounter that night. The first beams of light were breaching the forest's ceiling as Aleksander stepped closer.

"Hey."

Jemma turned, not responding, only nodding, before settling his eyes back against the ground.

"We have to tell the others. Boss needs to let this go. This is much too much for us."

Jemma nodded.

"Let's wait until it gets dark again. Then, if he hasn't found us out, he will have lost us. A bit further I saw a cabin."

"What if he had let us go?"

"What?"

Jemma turned around again. "What if he let us leave, so we betray the other's location to him?"

Aleksander had thought about this as well. The killer had been gaining on them and should at least have tried to stick as far as possible with them. Yet, when they had escaped through the crowd, no sign of him was to be seen. Vanished into thin air, with only a few guards craning their necks like a flock of hungry chicken. Jemma was right, they couldn't lead him to the rest of them. And he only hoped that Akhorn would listen to them.

* * *

Johannes cursed inwardly as he stomped back towards the city walls. He had lost them both in the crowd and then they must've split up. Both must have travelled quite some distance along a shallow stream, so no footsteps remained and the area to search was much too large for him. He had taken some time to wash the blood off of his coat and leather hat, once more grateful for the article's easy maintainability. He doubted the guards, even though they couldn't have seen him leave, would let him back into the walls while he was covered in someone else's blood.

Now that he thought about it, he felt the sting of his own injuries. None of the wounds he had received were life threatening to him, though they would surely have at least crippled a normal man. One of the men he had tailed, had surprised him by throwing a large dart at him, that lodged into the flesh beneath his collarbone, while another, later, had buried a small dagger in his neck, striking one of the major blood vessels that ran up along the throat. With the old blood coursing through his veins however, they had already closed, only occasionally feeling uncomfortable as the skin became taught over his muscles again.

He passed a trio of early risers. All women, probably off to make their daily errands. Only their fearful visages reminded him of the sword still in his right and that even with the most earnest efforts, his clothes were still very much stained in red.

He apologized and after quickly cleaning off the blood from his steel, sheathed it again and fastened the scabbard to his hip, leaving the whispering farmers wives behind.

An hours walk and a half lie about bandits to the city's gatekeeper borough him back to Yennefer's residence. The poor bird that these imbeciles had nailed to the front door as a promise of misguided vengeance was still there, so he pulled it's constraints carefully from the wood, aware of the suspicious glances he drew from more than a single passersby. A few steps aside, he buried the pitiful thing under a street sign, then placed a pebble on the small grave. The irony of his actions did not escape him. Half a dozen men lay slain in the streets and here he was, conducting a funeral for a juvenile crow.

He had hoped that the two women were still asleep. At least Ciri was prone to sleeping in when allowed, though he knew that Yennefer did not practice such laziness on a regular basis. He would have snuck in, replaced his ruined shirt and trousers and made sure that the damages on his coat were repaired.

Then again, he'd also hoped to dismantle the whole ring of conspirators in one fell swoop when he set out in the night to stalk after the messagemen with the bird. In the end, he had been careless, discovered and forced to attack with all the rage he could muster without losing himself in the blood again. Two were dispatched easily on the sidewalk, and three others after he had breached the door. The sixth, Emer, as he had learnt, had almost fled. A small pang of guilt hit him after the realisation that he had killed the boy for nothing, since the last two had still managed to escape.

He shouldn't have sliced him up like that. After they had been routed, he could have easily captured him and spent some time with interrogation. Johannes did not have extensive experience in the subject, but he was certain that a Hunter like him was able to impress sufficient terror on a young mind like Emer's and could have broken him rather quickly.

He decided that he was done with scolding himself and ascended the last few steps to Yennefer's door, unlocking it as silently as the mechanism allowed. Unfortunately, as he stepped inside, he was immediately greeted by the sorceress and one other man, both of them lounging close to each other on the tea ensemble in the main room.

"Johannes. Good morning."

"As well as to you." He nodded to her, taking off his hat. Then he looked at the man.

Even sitting, he was an imposing figure, surely only a minor bit shorter than Johannes himself, but in exchange much more muscular. His chest seemed to burst from his shirt and his arms were toned and powerful. Even so, he seemed agile enough, being slim enough to be quick in a fight if necessary. His face was rugged and scarred, one crossing upwards over the left side of his face, disturbing the stubble that grew from his chiselled chin high to his cheeks. His snow white hair was held together in a loose ponytail and his eyes…

Boring into him, the man's eyes were those of a cat, yellow and sharp, the iris a vertical slit. He regarded him with a well educated look and the Hunter would have possibly exacted the same analysis onto him if he did not already know who he was. Ciri had told him a fair bit about him.

Master witcher Geralt of Rivia. The white wolf. The butcher of Blaviken.

"Greetings." The witcher said in a gravelly, deep voice. Johannes was painfully aware of his scrutinizing gaze that rested briefly on his scarred neck and bloodied shirt, as well as the sheathed weapon still in his hand.

"Long night?"

"Early morning." Johannes answered, fighting his own tension. He knew that Geralt of Rivia was not his enemy, but the man radiated a disposition that the Hunter could not ignore. A strong, but abstract feeling of danger. Something that he quickly deduced by some brief and admittedly barely humble reflection, must be what others might feel when facing himself.

"Successful?" The witcher asked, narrowing his eyes and grinning slightly in challenge.

"Not entirely, I am afraid." The Hunter admitted. Strangely enough, he felt annoyed by the fact. He had felt anger during his hunt, but it was never of any immediate consequence, rather directed at the forces that loomed over the doomed city, driving him forward to new violence.

Now, he was annoyed with himself. Whoever the men were that he had hunted through the alleys and streets, they were up to no good. It was possible that they meant to harm the sorceress or Ciri, something that he would not let happen. As such, he had immediately upon discovery of their ominous threat, nailing a carcass to the house, begun to stalk them with the intent of eliminating the danger before the women could find out.

He had failed though and now, two of the perpetrators were on the run and would naturally warn any other accomplices. Death and pain meant little to him, yet he would not be responsible for any harm done to Ciri. So he would pursue them, secrecy or not.

The witcher stood up and walked towards him. He was tall, only a finger's width shorter than Johannes and much broader in stature. Unconsciously he took a step back to face him fully, gripping the scabbard in his hand a tiny bit tighter.

"You know we should talk." Geralt said softly. The Hunter peered towards his white mane at the sorceress who lounged, apparently uncaring in one of her recliners. She lifted a hand and waved him off, a nod towards the witcher's direction. He accepted it. Ciri and him brought their mess here and now he would need to clean it up.

"Let us take a walk."

Both men exited the building, the Hunter close after the witcher, who moved with brusque determination. The sun had risen higher and the streets were filling up with people, bringing with them the constant chatter and bustle that dominated the city by day.

When they turned into the main street, the Hunter noticed the malicious gazes that the man in front of him drew from the people. While he himself had been stared at, it had always been because of his height and never with such contempt. Ciri had mentioned the disgust with which the general population regarded witchers, seeing in them nothing more than gold thirsty killers and abhumans. If these people knew only what he himself had become during his ordeal through that damned city, he'd guess he'd have a lynch mob on his tail before the sun went down.

However, no one paid them any further mind as they moved through the city and towards the gates. With some anxiety, he noticed that they took almost the same route by which he had chased the duo of brigands out of town, the white haired man in front of them sparing him no word until they arrived at the building he had raided the night before. Two of the city guard stood in front with bored expressions on their faces.

The front door was in splinters, powdering the room behind in sharp pieces of wood and paint. What was left of the furniture was overturned and thrown through the room. Here and there, the dirt of the ground, the wood of the floor and the stone of the walls was painted a dark reddish brown. The bodies had been carted off.

Geralt stopped a few paces in front of the building, out of earshot for the two guards.

"When I arrived this morning, I was approached by the guardsmen at the front gate. They asked me to take a look at their crime scene. They are convinced of it to be work for a witcher." He said with a look at the Hunter.

"Yennefer told me how you and Ciri met in Velen. Your clash with mercenaries."

"I believe they seek vengeance, however misguided their efforts may be." The Hunter answered. "I intended to follow them undetected."

"Well, you surprised them certainly."

The two of them entered, after Geralt had exchanged a few words with the guards. Even though Johannes was responsible for the chaos first hand, he had not had the time to regard his work himself. To say he was surprised would be exaggeration, though he chastised himself again for his lack of caution, as well as his near loss of control. Even though the red veil had only come to him for the blink of an eye, it had been enough. The table in the middle of the room, had been cleaved clean in half, both sides covered in dried blood. One of the walls was dented and splattered crimson as well. He remembered how the skull gave in under his palm and the catharsis of seeing his opponents flee in terror.

The back door had been sturdy and had survived being unhinged nearly intact. It lay almost ten paces further down the alley behind the house. The man who had been crushed by it had been removed.

"I see why the city guard thinks that this is the work of a monster." Geralt said as he stepped around an overturned bucket and cast his gaze down the alley. A large spot at the corner was still wet. The place where the Hunter had released the young man, who had been called Emer from his suffering. His death had been sloppy, which Johannes regretted. None of the others had suffered long, their deaths quick and while brutal, as painless as possible.

"Two have gotten away. They exited through the north gate. I lost them in a crowd and could only track them to the stream outside of the city."

His shoulders sagged and he let out a deep sigh, eyes cast down at another pool of blood where a decapitated corpse had been lying a few hours before.

"What a poor first impression this must be."

"I had worse." The witcher answered gruffly, but without particular malice. He and the Hunter locked eyes.

"Yennefer says that Ciri trusts you. She herself has not made up her mind about you. I don't trust you. You'll have to earn that. Now, I have seen what men can do to each other and I have seen what monsters can do to men."

He stepped closer, his yellow cat eyes cutting through the Hunter's greys.

"This is not the work of a man, Hunter." He pressed the last word from his mouth, challenging an answer from Johannes, who only stared back, before straightening his back again. Geralt's eyes narrowed as the Hunter's steeled and became cold and sharp.

"It is a Hunter's work. I leave it to you to see me as a man, or a monster. It's wholly the same to me."

If stares could start fires, both men would be ablaze in flame. They stood there for a long moment, regarding each other like two beasts of prey, while the shadows shortened in the morning sun.

It was a moment that Dandelion would most likely would let himself almost get killed again to witness, Geralt thought. His own trials tended to humble himself occasionally, either due to failure or consequence, yet he was fully aware of his very sharp sword hand and his keen instincts. The witcher abilities not counted.

When he had stepped foot on the scene of the massacre first, earlier that day, he would have sworn that this had been done by an eldritch horror, such as a vampire or any of the more obscure dangers that rarely prowled the land. However, he had quickly discarded the notion, as these mighty beings almost never used weapons, and a blade had surely been at work here. Yennefer had informed him then, upon his arrival and after a quick, but intimate greeting, that Ciri had brought with her a peculiar man. A pale young man of impressive height and a dark intrigue which she could not resist to not pry on. As she was fairly certain he would not explain himself, she had used some of her… more advanced techniques to draw more clues out of him.

He had groaned when he learned that she had drugged the stranger.

* * *

"Well, you could have told me!?" Ciri said, her brow furrowed in irritation. Yennefer sat across from her, her legs crossed and hands in her lap. The sorceress sighed.

"Would you have approved?" She asked.

"I - no, I don't think so. We could have simply asked him."

Yennefer shook her head. "I have prodded once. On your first day here. I first thought he stumbled, but he told me quickly that there are things he will keep secret. I felt back then, that he was now on guard and I knew that further questions might irritate him."

"So you did the morally right thing and gave him drugs to break his defense?"

"He took them himself, remember? I just listened closer." Yennefer propped her chin on one hand, observing Ciri closely.

"I thought we'd help. I did not concur to spy on his mind?"

"Sure. We all know. So you can wash your hands in innocence, but I do not trust this man. How could I, with such a dead radiance?"

"What's that supposed to mean, now?" The young woman grew inpatient now. Yennefer's explanation so far had been spotty and unhelpful.

"I'm a sorceress, Ciri. A good one." Yennefer said with emphasis.

"I have spent decades to accustom myself to the chaos and much more time to use it rightly. I have learned and felt all kinds of magic and I remember every touch with the chaos. It's alive, Ciri."

"I know. You taught me." Ciri sighed.

"I fear it was for naught though. Because if you had managed to attune yourself, you may have felt it. If chaos is fire, this man's magic is… just… nothing. Cold air."

Both women fell silent. Yennefer had begun to speak in a tone of worry and it unnerved Ciri a bit. The older woman was known to be extraordinarily robust, as such receiving a callous reputation, so seeing her pushing through her thick skin, meant that what she said was not to be taken lightly. When it rattled Yennefer's defenses, a lesser person would be terrified.

"So, what happened? Did you see anything?"

"I don't 'see' anything during the process. I don't think anyone has ever managed more than hearing a single word from someone else's mind. It is like dipping a foot in a pond and feeling whatever's there. You can maybe gouge the water's temperature and if it's calm or still, but as I said. Reading minds is impossible to me."

"And what did you feel then?"

Yennefer was silent for a long moment, watching Ciri's boots and scratching at her thumb's nail with her index finger.

"It was… overwhelming."

The graveness of her voice was like a cold shiver down Ciri's back. She leant in further to better hear the sorceress.

"Instead of a pond, there was an ocean. Instead of the sensations, the fish and plants nibbling and caressing my feet, there was nothing. Only an immeasurable, icy depth. It is difficult to avoid allegories, so stay with me here. Does it make sense?"

"I think it does, yes. But he is not a cold man. Not at all. He can be quite comforting." Ciri answered. Though the Hunter might have seemed distant at a few occasions, he had stayed open and had even lured a laugh or two from her. When Lea's life had been threatened, he had not wasted a minute to run to her aid.

"That is what lies at the surface. An image of a man. Emotions and knowledge, right and wrong, love and hate, it all floats through the mind, dynamic and always moving. But here, it was a sea of nothing. I have never felt anything like this. But that is not all."

A haunted look washed over Yennefer's face for a fraction of a second, a blink of an eye. The white haired girl almost missed it, but when she didn't, she almost recoiled. Such a look was as unnatural for Yennefer as it was for a bird to grow hands.

"When I tried to find something in that void, anything, I went further, deeper. I shouldn't have, but curiosity had gripped me. And I found something. The little currents of humanity that were missing above, they were so far down the abyss, that I don't want to imagine the torment that made them retreat so far. Whatever it was that he went through, it must have threatened to shatter his sanity. So his mind buried itself where the world wouldn't reach it."

It was equally frightening to Ciri, as it saddened her. He had mentioned the city and he had given nods to the hell that it was. Yet she hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary. A well behaved, upstanding and humble man, who had fled before Rhinzweig's citizens could besiege him with thanks. To imagine that he could be so broken made her heart drop.

Yennefer continued.

"But as I tried to reach out, to gauge him at last, something…"

"What? What happened?"

"Something was down there. Like a living mountain, deep down below." Yennefer's eyes betrayed a foreign nervousness. Something that Ciri had seen before with men fresh from battle. A twitch and a stare, far beyond what the eye could see, as they peered at something in their memory. She was about to say something, when Yennefer finally finished.

"And it tried to reach back."

* * *

"You are a cunning tracker, I give you that, master witcher." Johannes said as he followed Geralt through a narrow gap in the , the beast slayer had managed to reacquire the two men's tracks after they had exited the shallow stream. Here, Johannes had lost their trail and had to turn around, defeated.

"It was clever of them to wade through water." The witcher answered. "Not the first time I've seen this though."

"I fear they may seek retribution on the people of Rhinzweig."

The witcher grunted.

"Kerren will see to it that it ain't happening. He's a capable man, even if he runs his mouth."

The Hunter nodded and for a while, they marched silently through the woods, Johannes keeping an eye out for the tracks that Geralt seemed to follow. He was disappointed at how many escaped him, though he had relatively rarely needed to track down beasts in Yharnam. If he followed them, they usually left a swath of destruction for him to keep to. That, or they fell upon him on sight.

They entered a clearing with a few gaps in the forest roof, through which stark columns of light fell on the ground. They closed in on a log in the center, where the witcher knelt down to wipe at some dirt, unearthing a footprint and a broken twig.

He stood and turned further north, where the forest thickened again.

"They went through there." The witcher said, but not continuing their trek. Johannes focused his vision in the direction where the other man had gestured to.

Something felt not right. Something further down the woods was upsetting to some primal sense in him. He had long learned to trust these obscure feelings, as they often revealed things before his primary five senses would. He sniffed the air.

"Blood."

"Yes." The witcher nodded, worry in his voice. "I recognize this place. There is a cabin further down. A friend of mine lives there. A healer."

"The two who got away were unhurt. They would have had no need to see an apothecary."

"Let's hope." The witcher said and moved. Both walked faster now, Geralt only occasionally slowing to confirm his trail. Johannes relying on his sense of smell. The scent was unmistakable and sickeningly sweet as he felt it calling. After a while, the Hunter gave up on searching the ground for evidence. He overtook the witcher and went straight forward, devouring ground as his legs carried him as fast as they could without running.

There was a scent coming off the man in front of Geralt, subtle and yet unmistakable, so foreign it was. It was a scent he'd never picked up before, of mint and sea. He pushed the thought back and followed his unlikely companion as he barrelled through the flora, straight toward the house where he knew Klara had her home.

The sweet girl had been of great help to him during his last visit in the region. When a dispute had parted the nearby village, the violence had finally escalated and brought about the demise of a young couple. Their unjust murder had summoned a spirit of hate that terrorised the village for weeks.

As a close friend to both the victims, Klara had helped him to find the killer and bring him to justice before the village elder. Weakened by this, the spirit had eventually fallen to Geralt's silver blade, but he had been wounded. Klara had taken care of him for days, nursing him to health. He had promised her a visit. A terrible premonition came to him.

He broke through the bushes after the Hunter and the house came into view. A small cabin with two rooms and a small outhouse. Flowers decorated the porch and a small fenced plot with a scarecrow housed medicinal herbs in their infancy. The curtains were shut, but to Geralt's horror, the door was ajar.

Forgoing the sword on his hip, Johannes drew his dagger and stood next to the door, listening for anything.

Geralt stepped next to him, his own knife in hand. A longsword would prove impractical in the close confines of the small home.

Without another word, they moved in. Quietly like ghosts, not a single creak or bump as they swarmed into the first room.

They found themselves in the main room, a small kitchen and a table dominating the space. There was a chair toppled over and a broken jar close to a window. Two closed a closed door led to a bedroom, which they found untouched.

"She is not here." Johannes said.

"Outside. Look for tracks."

It didn't take long before Geralt called Johannes to him. Behind the house, where a steep, sandy incline bore still marks of footprints and a heavy object being dragged. Quickly, they climbed up, back into the woods, both now following exclusively their sense of smell.

Johannes caught himself unconsciously grinding his teeth and gripping the heft of his sheathed sword harder than necessary. Something had mixed itself into the smell of blood. A foul odor, nearly a stench. Unmistakably the reek of rot.

A five minute travel through the forest brought them to the edge of the treeline, where they had clear view over a vast arrangement of fields. The flat land was framed on both sides with trees that vanished into the horizon, leaving a clear border between soil and sky.

The benevolent sunlight from above made the scenery all the more grotesque.

In the center, like in a painting, stood a cross, double the height of a grown man and with it's arms angled upwards diagonally. It had been crudely bound together with rope and the top had been crowned with nails that stuck horizontally from the main bar. Naked, bloody and beaten, her arms back over the diagonal bars and her head low, hung a woman, bound by her feet and neck against the cross. Her abdomen had been cut open, her intestines coiled around the base of the wood to the floor. A foul stench streamed at him from the vile display, overwhelming his senses.

"No." The witcher gasped and started running, Hunter close behind him.

There was no fairness to the world, Geralt knew that. Yet, naturally, inside him formed a string of curses and hateful promises. Klara had deserved nothing but happiness, yet she received a grisly death at the hand of two lunatics, who had found their way here only by chance. He knew her only for a few days, but with every kind stranger he befriended, he felt their worth pile up against the mass of undeserving monsters that hid in human skin. Losing a kind soul was a pain he would never get used to, no matter his callousness.

"No! Step back!" Johannes called out as Geralt moved to unbind the abused body of his friend. The witcher was about to ignore him, when he felt a hand on his shoulder and was janked back violently, almost losing his footing. Rage built in him, but when he locked eyes with the Hunter, he saw that there was concern. That and pain.

"Why?" He shot back, only narrowly avoiding spewing an insult.

The Hunter did not answer immediately, his eyes alternating between the white haired man and the horrible crucifix.

"It is coated in... a cursed substance." He finally said. "The stench… merely a touch is enough to send one into madness."

"What? How do you know of this?" Geralt spat. He was filled with anger now. Anger and confusion and he directed it at the man in front of him.

"It is a cross of the Healing Church. They used them to string up beasts. But it doesn't make sense. They had fallen and I have hunted their remnants almost to extinction."

"What are you talking about!?" The witcher bellowed and took hold of the Hunter's collar. "If you have anything to do with this, I swear I will-"

"Nothing of this makes sense to me either!" The Hunter snapped back. "Mere days ago I was not even from this world, so do not accuse me of this abominable crime, witcher."

Geralt released him, taking a step back. He took a deep breath. Now that he saw clearer again, he noticed that Johannes had a hand on his dagger's grip. He cursed inwardly.

"Explain yourself." He demanded.

"Let us first cut her off this cursed thing."

It took some effort to release poor Klara's corpse from the wooden cross without accidentally touching the vile wood that visibly steamed a crimson vapour that smelled of rotten flesh. When they were finished, the Hunter produced a small bottle from the inside of his coat and splashed the blasphemous construction with a liquid that the witcher noticed was petroleum.

Johannes was muttering something that Geralt could not understand. Sometimes, he thought that words sounded familiar, only to be proven wrong by a string of indecipherable nonsense. When he was finished, he fished a small box of matches from his pocket, as well as another, smaller bottle, which the witcher suspected, contained sulfuric acid.

"No need." He said flatly and stood next to the other man.

He reached out with his hand and, violently, scorching the ground around the cross, shot a white hot wave of fire. Within seconds, the cross was ablaze, the flames licking towards the sky and sparks raining down on the two battle hardened men, who stood long in front of it. Powerless and foolish was how they felt.

"You owe me an explanation." The witcher growled, not taking his eyes off the bizarre inferno in front of him.

"Yes. I do." The Hunter said, taking off his hat and dragging a hand through his hair, which was matted with sweat.

"Yennefer has explained to me that you might have come from… somewhere else."

"A separate world."

"Whatever. How then, that you recognize this shit?"

The Hunter sighed tiredly. "Before I awoke in Rhinzweig, I was in a city called Yharnam. It was already in ruins when I arrived there. People had ripped each other to shreds and were hunting themselves in the streets."

The witcher motioned him to carry on.

"The Healing Church of Yharnam had promised health for the sick and strength for the weak. Instead they created monsters. The night was always aflame. These crosses, they were used to string up the corpses of beasts."

"You are surely not mistaken? It is not just a similar cross?"

"No." The Hunter put his hat back on his head. "I will never forget this stench."

It took the cross the better part of three hours to finally collapse under its own weight and for the flames to die down enough so that they could extinguish it with water from Klara's house. For another hour, they searched for a place to bury the woman's corpse and inform the elder of the village of what had happened. The old man assured them that they would honor the grave and make a mark for it, so that it could be found. The way back was silent, as none of them felt the need, nor the urge to speak.

* * *

He did not hear Ciri, or Yennefer, or Geralt. His mind was racing, putting together thoughts and ripping them apart again, tossing them aside and starting anew. Somewhere out there was the explanation, truth that he needed to snuff out from this world, lest a fate similar to his own would surely befall these people. He did not notice the blood that seeped subtly from his palms as his nails dug into his flesh. He did not feel the strain of his teeth as they pressed down strong enough to crush bone.

Death was the only cure. When anyone had come into contact with forces beyond the stars, he would honor his title. Hunter. Killer. Monster. Who could assume the right care when he had slaughtered abominations beyond count? Beyond human understanding.

Johannes.

He could march right out the door and march towards Rhinzweig. Find this Akhorn and squeeze the information he needed out of him like from an orange. Let the wolves feed on his remains. He was the only one with a name right now. The only one he could seek for.

Johannes.

He felt neutered, harmless without a valid lead. He did not know his way around this strange world. He did not have the option of asking, or demanding. Threaten, surely, but who? Would it lead him anywhere beside a prison cell? Sweat broke from his brow and he felt his vision narrow. The blasphemous sign had affected him yet again. Only the sight and smell was enough to send him reeling back to the edge of the abyss. Oh how he had struggled to keep control of himself when they were so close to the accursed cross. The scent had tempted him, called out to him. It had screamed, the eldritch blood.

"Johannes!"

He snapped his head up, staring deep into the vibrant green eyes of Cirella. The slender face, the long lashes, the scar on her cheek that curved down towards her earlobe. A strand of ashen hair hung over her nose.

"Yes." He affirmed.

"What is going on, Johannes?" She pleaded. Who was this worry for? Him? Why? He was a Hunter of the Dream. Monsters paled in comparison to his own hunger. It tugged on him, every day, every minute. How he had ever worked up the insurmountable power to withstand the call, he would never know.

"The sickness that has befallen the city of Yharnam and destroyed it, has come here I believe."

"Could you have brought it with you?" Yennefer asked. Her eyes were two lilac feelers, prodding him and scrutinizing him with every twitch. She was not wrong. The blood cursed through his veins, but infection took more than simple contact. One had to gorge oneself on the substance to make it stick. That, or the influence of one of the uncountable eldritch abominations that lurked in the infinite expanse of the cosm. The chance was near nil, but it was a chance.

"No. I don't believe so." He said with some doubt. "The sickness spreads through thorough contact. A human would need to ingest large quantities of infected material. No other bodily fluids carry the pathogen." He rattled down the exact words he had read, back in the university of Byrgenwerth. he would pray later that they were true.

"Then how? What could bring something as dire as this, from your world to this?"

He had a hunch, but he repressed it. Too terrible it was to imagine that there was a remaining Great One from his night of the hunt, come here to haunt him again.

"I do not know." He lied. No expression on his face, only a mask of bone, muscle and skin.

"Well, Hunter." Geralt spoke up. The word was sticky with mocking. "What will we do then?"

"We?" Johannes asked, surprised. The Hunt was for him and him alone. He was damned to walk yet another nightmare, enter another meatgrinder as the man he was and come out the other end as… whatever he could still become.

"If it's to do with Akhorn and his men, I will not let you go on your own." Ciri said, a sad half smile on her lips.

"And since we know it's impossible to hold her, I will come too. Keep an eye on you, Hunter." Geralt grumbled. The slight, veiled threat did not escape the Hunter.

"If it is indeed a sickness, we might just try and-" Yennefer started, but Johannes cut her off.

"No. There can be no discussion. If I may have indeed brought this with me, then I must finish it myself. I can not accept anyone elses involvement."

"Well, I have made up my mind."

"Ciri-"

"I am coming with ya." She leaned back and crossed her arms. Her greens bored into him, daring him to further this argument. He would indulge her, standing up and glaring down at her, now double her height.

"I will not allow you to go with me."

"And who are you, to tell me where to go?" She sprang to her feet as well.

"And if I have to-" Further he didn't come as he felt a quick, sharp pain on his face. Ciri drew back her hand, shaking it at her wrist and cursing in pain.

"Sit. Down." He said. The words reverberated through Ciri's core like a church bell had been struck next to her. The air suddenly became cold.

Geralt was standing, knees bent, ready to pounce. Yennefer had taken a step back. Cirella looked up to him, something deep behind her facade of strength and stubbornness. Fear.

The man standing in front of them, had changed. Just now still bickering with Ciri, nervousness in his voice, his face had hardened. His form was a looming promise of demise, his eyes almost glowing with something that did not belong to the surface of this world. His shadow, cast by the sun through the window, stretched longer than it had the right to, framing his body in black as all three of them felt the shiver of being watched by a thousand eyes from somewhere beyond what they could see.

She sat down.

As fast as the unnatural sensations had come, they vanished again, leaving nothing but a numb and fleeting memory in the subconsciousness. As if their minds worked frantically to disassemble the experience, it left them simply shaken and confused, while the Hunter himself, worked Johannes back to the surface, straightened his trousers and sank down back on his own chair.

"If you insist…" He began, folding his hands in front of himself. "...then listen closely."

"The affliction is not from this realm, nor is it from mine. It is something beyond your,-" He motioned at Yennefer, then Ciri, then Geralt. "-or my understanding. There is only one and only one solution. Only one cure."

He paused. Though he had regained his former face, his expression was dark.

"Only an honest and thorough death."

**Alright. It's 0620 in the morning here. I have not slept, because I wanted to post something. I was originally trying for 9000 words, but you'll have to be content with, like 7700 now. Hope you like it. If you have opinions, please let me know in the reviews. Questions and ideas, please PM me. I'm going to bed now.**


End file.
